Castiel and Crowley SE2 Episode 3: Threads
by WatchingOne
Summary: Pull on the strings and the tapestry unravels... Do you really want to see what's hiding behind it?
1. A Monday Afternoon

**A Monday Afternoon**

The alarm on Crowley's computer beeped and he blinked in surprise. He closed the construction document that he had been reviewing and opened the Calendar App. The yellow triangle alert icon was flashing. He clicked it, already dreading what he would read there.

"4:00 – Meeting with Detective Novak."

He groaned.

It wasn't as if he didn't _like_ his brother-in-law...well...maybe that was exaggerating it...

A bit.

There was something about Castiel Novak that just seemed... _off_ to Fergus Crowley. He was such a _stiff_ , really. He shook his head and sighed. He made his sister Meg happy, he supposed. That was all that mattered. He was such her type. Total Boy-Scout.

He grabbed his phone and stood up, reaching for his briefcase.

The room swum before his eyes. His temples pounded. He felt... _fingers_...stroking along his spine...

He gasped and sat down heavily, immediately rubbing at his temples in an attempt to alleviate the sudden migraine that attacked him.

These were getting more frequent. More intense.

He opened up his desk drawer and pulled out the pill bottle, gave it a shake, flipped the cap open and tipped out two tablets into his shaking palm. He popped them into his mouth and swallowed them dry, grimacing.

He had been suffering these episodes for months now, and despite every test known to medical science, they had found no abnormalities in Crowley's head.

He chuckled to himself. _Now_ that _was front page news...no abnormalities_ , he thought sarcastically.

He leaned back in his chair and shut his eyes, trying to relax.

Those _fingers_...and a sound...like...was it _laughter_?

He took another deep breath and stood up. He was going to be late.

He left his office and turned off the light.

"Lilith?"

His secretary looked up from her desk.

"Yes, Gus?"

"I'm meeting my sister's husband for an early dinner. Make sure Daisy is walked, ok?"

Lilith frowned.

"What?"

She sighed. "Gus...boss...it's nothing personal, but that dog..."

"What about her?"

"Well, she's not a dog."

Crowley frowned. "Whatever do you mean?"

"She's a dog-a-saurus."

He grinned. "Now, now let's not shame her because of her size. Besides, she's as gentle as a lamb."

"Probably because she ate a herd of them..." Lilith muttered under her breath.

"Pardon?"

Lilith smiled broadly. "Nothing sir. I'll handle it. Have a nice dinner."

Crowley smiled and walked to the elevator and took it down to the lobby of his office building. His name in large, polished chrome letters greeted him as he stepped out. The security guards nodded to him. He waved back as he went to the street, where his limo was already waiting.

"Where to, sir?"

"The Abbey," Crowley grunted, sliding into his seat. "Meeting Castiel there in about a half an hour."

His driver, Adam, snorted. "That sounds like fun, sir"

"No one asked you," Crowley grunted, then raised the divider up and turned on the radio. The local Atlanta news was on. Something or another about freak weather in the Atlantic near Florida...

Crowley tuned it out, though, feeling the medicine begin to kick in.

What was going on with him? He had never really been prone to sickness in his entire life.

Something was _off_. Not knowing what that something was was starting to drive him crazy.

He was still considering this when he dozed off.

* * *

 _He was standing in a field...a field that wasn't a field. It was...night? He looked up. The stars...where were all the stars? A golden line was faintly visible in the heavens...being drawn taught, as if held in the sky by enormous hands..._

 _Someone...no...not someone,_ something _was standing behind him..._

 _He felt a chill up and down his spine. Pure horror rushed through him._

 _He had to turn around...but..._

 _…_ _.he didn't want to turn around._

 _He began to turn anyway...automatically...helplessly...against his will...he didn't want...to...see..._

 _It reached for him, screaming...a face made up of a thousand nightmares...he tried to scream..._

* * *

Crowley woke with a start, his brow covered in sweat, breathing rapidly.

"Sir? Sir, we're here."

Crowley grunted. "Thanks Adam. Go ahead and park, but I won't be long..."

"You OK, sir?"

Crowley smiled what he hoped was a reassuring smile, even though he was positive that he looked far from the part. "Right as rain. Just a nightmare is all."

"Ok sir, if you say so," Adam replied, obviously unconvinced. Crowley smiled back in thanks and got out of the car.

The Abbey was a luxury restaurant built inside of an old Presbyterian church that hadn't been burned down during the Civil War. It was a bit pricey, but Crowley preferred it to more intimate settings if he had to meet with his brother-in-law. The crowd would provide adequate distractions from Detective Novak's...eccentricities. At least he _hoped_ so.

The usher brought him to his table and Castiel looked up from his menu.

"The prices here are obscene."

Crowley smiled and sat down. "Well, good thing that you don't get the check, then."

"Don't be ridiculous," Castiel met his eyes. "We split the check. I insist."

Crowley raised his eyebrows. "And I insist that I cover it. Better that than having to face my sister afterwards."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Crowley sighed. Already turning sour. What a _stiff_...

"Nothing, Castiel. I am passing along no disparaging remarks upon my dearest sister, your wife. I am merely being practical. No splitting this bill. In fact, this entire gross display of wealth is specifically _intended_ to make you uncomfortable." He squinted at Castiel and nodded in satisfaction. "Goal achieved."

Castiel watched him for awhile then grunted, turning back to his menu. "Maybe I'll just get a salad..."

Crowley grimaced behind his menu. "Sacrilege. Which is kinda funny, actually, if you consider the setting here..."

The waitress came by a few minutes later, jotting down their orders dutifully on her notepad. To his credit, Castiel didn't order a salad, instead ordering the Abbey's famous Steak Tar-Tar. Crowley went with the Top-Sirloin.

"How would you like that cooked, Sir?" the waitress asked.

"Bloody as hell, if you please," he answered.

The waitress smirked "I figured as much," she muttered.

Crowley frowned, squinting at her. "Have we met?"

She smiled back at him. "Oh, nothing as simple as that. I just had you figured as a 'rare' man is all." She flashed him a brilliantly white smile, her eyes twinkling behind her black horn-rimmed glasses and turned away.

"So...Meg says 'Hi'," Castiel muttered.

"Mm-hmm," Crowley answered, leaning back in his chair and tenting his fingers. "How are things?"

"Fine. Just fine."

Crowley's brow wrinkled.

"Castiel?"

"Hm?"

"You're the one that asked for this meeting."

"Oh...yeah...right..." Castiel answered, looking embarrassed. He reached down to his side and opened up his briefcase, pulling a manila envelope out. He placed it on the table, moving the fine linens out of the way.

"Is that...work?" Crowley asked, his mouth curling in distaste.

"Afraid so," Castiel answered, thumbing though a few of the top sheets.

"Castiel...why on _earth_ would you want to meet with me about a case?" He paused, considering. "My company isn't under investigation, is it?"

"No, of course not," Castiel replied dryly, then raised an eyebrow. "Should it be?"

"Castiel, forgive me, but was that...a joke?"

Castiel smiled and shook his head. "It was trying to be."

Crowley smiled despite himself. "Well, sorry to say, but it wasn't funny. But keep working at it. You're heading in the right direction. Now, what is it that you have there?"

"Cultists," Castiel murmured, pulling a sheet out and putting it down on the table. "They're getting really organized."

Crowley frowned, picking up the paper. "Cultists? I've been hearing something about that in the news. Wack jobs...what was it again? Trying to summon demons from another dimension? But I don't understand what that has to do with..." His smile faded as he read the page that Castiel had given him. He turned it back towards him, pointing at it. "These are my development properties, Castiel."

"Yes. Yes they are."

"I thought you just said that my company wasn't under investigation, that that was a _joke_..."

Castiel smiled humorously. "And I thought that you said that that joke wasn't very funny."

"And getting less and less humorous by the minute..." Crowley grunted. "What have my development properties got to do with cultists, Castiel?"

"They're using them. Holding their rituals there. Sometimes holding up there for a few nights."

"What?!" Crowley answered in shock, his face clenched up in surprise. "I haven't heard _any_ of this..."

Castiel waved his hand in the air. "No, we've been keeping that confidential," he paused, frowning. "Until now."

"Oh. Wonderful," Crowley grunted. "So, enlighten me whilst I consider whether or not I should sue the APD for withholding this information from me. What changed?"

Castiel frowned. "I don't think that you have a legal case to..."

"Castiel..." Crowley interrupted, causing the detective to look up. "What changed?"

"There's been a homicide."

Crowley felt the blood drain out of his face. "That _is_ bad. At...one of my properties, I'm guessing?"

Castiel nodded and Crowley began to feel ill. The bad press alone...

"Why come to me? Are you going public today?"

Castiel nodded again. "We have to. I thought it might be helpful...not just to warn you, but..."

"But?"

Castiel folded his hands on the table. "All of the holdouts and rituals have occurred on one of your properties, Crowley. Without exception."

Crowley's eyes widened. "You don't think that _I_ had something to do with..."

Castiel held up a hand as their food arrived. "Gus, contrary to popular belief, there is an enormous difference between a 'person of interest' and a 'suspect'..."

"I'm a _person of interest_?" Crowley shot back, his voice loud enough to get a couple of heads to turn in their direction. He paled and leaned forward confidentially. "Castiel, you _cannot_ be serious," he hissed.

Castiel tilted his head. "Look, Gus, I just need to figure out why these cultists are so interested in your properties." He frowned. "Even you have to admit that it's a pretty strange coincidence."

Crowley frowned, considering. "You have a point..." he sighed and shook his head. "I just don't know how I _can_ help...there is literally nothing I know about cults or strange ritualists..."

Castiel frowned and leaned forward. "That's not...entirely true though, is it?"

Crowley arched an eyebrow. "What do you mean...?"

"Meg told me..."

"Told you _what_ , Castiel...?"

"That your mother, Rowena..."

"Oh please!" Crowley exclaimed, this time definitely shouting loud enough to garner too much attention. "She was into New-Age mysticism and such back in Scotland. Fancied herself a witch, or a Wicca, whatever you call them these days...but seriously? What could that possibly have to do with what's going on here in Atlanta? And _murder_ , Castiel? The worst she'd ever done is burn down half the living room with incense..."

Castiel held up a hand. "OK, ok, I get it, Gus. But let me ask you...is it...just a possibility is all...that one of her ex-acquaintances or practitioners is involved in this? The fact that they seem to be targeting _your_ properties..."

Crowley frowned. "I mean...sure...I guess. I can get you a list of names..."

Castiel sighed in relief and leaned back in his chair, looking at his meal. "That's all I'm asking for. Thanks, Gus."

"Or...maybe your mother kept journals...books?" the waitress said, leaning over towards Crowley from behind him.

"What...?!" Crowley jolted, startled, looking the waitress up and down. "I beg your pardon? Were you listening in on our conversation? This is private!" He narrowed his eyes at her. "I'd like to speak to the manager. Now."

She ignored him and took the seat to the side of the table, leaning forward. "No time. Now, did your mother keep any old books around? Weird looking ones?"

"Um...ma'am? I'm Detective Novak, Atlanta PD," Castiel said. "This is an ongoing investigation...it really isn't appropriate for civilians to..."

She waved him off.

"Books, Crowley! Think! Did she keep any weird books around?"

Crowley blinked, genuinely confused. "Who are you...? I mean...no...I don't remember any..."

"Oh, _God_ ," the waitress moaned, looking down at her order pad and shaking her head. "Don't tell me that you have absolutely no idea what I'm even talking about...did you pay _no_ attention at all to what your mother was doing in Scotland?"

Castiel's eyes widened. "Are you...are you one of the cultists?" He stood up and fumbled in his coat for a pair of handcuffs.

The waitress shot him a withering look. "No, of course I'm not a cultist...I'm trying to stop them..."

"Stop them...stop them how?"

"They're trying to bring something through..."

Castiel snorted. "That's a _fantasy_ , lady. Now look, if there's something actually useful that you can tell me..."

She stood up and her head shot towards the entrance of the restaurant. She turned very pale.

"Oh nonononono...one of them is _here_..." she whispered. She fixed Crowley with a fierce gaze and grabbed his jacket. He shouted in protest but she gave him a stern shake.

"Look, there's no _time_ , Crowley, but you have to remember! Think! Your mother's books...I'll see you again. Soon." She looked back to the door and he followed her gaze.

He felt the hairs on his arms all stand up at once.

The familiar feeling of pure dread filled him as he looked...

 _The door spun towards him...the dark figure standing in it fixed it's eyes...it's hate-filled, cruel, cold malicious eyes on him...reaching...reaching..._

Crowley felt the room spin, saw the floor rush up to meet him...and saw no more...

* * *

"Give him some space..." he heard Castiel's voice somewhere over him. There were hands around him...loosening his tie...

"M'ok," he managed to mumble, brushing lamely away at the people trying to help him. "Just another migraine is all..."

"Easy now, easy Gus, " he heard Castiel again. He saw him through blurred vision and tried to get up off of his back.

"You want to sit up?" Castiel asked, "Ok, but easy now...not sure we should even try that..." he looked over his shoulder. "Is the ambulance on the way?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's coming," Crowley heard a voice...the waitress? He squinted up. It _was_ her...

"Whahappened...?" he mumbled, managing to reach a sitting position.

"You fell over..." Castiel answered. "...right out of your chair. Do you want some water or something?"

Crowley shook his head. "There was...something at the door..."

Castiel frowned. "The door. What do you mean? We just got our food and you fell over..."

Crowley frowned. "You mean after the waitress sat down...?"

Castiel looked confused. "Waitress sat down...? Gus...I'm not sure what you're talking about..."

Crowley looked around and found the waitress. He pointed. "Her. She was asking about...my mother's books..."

The waitress looked puzzled as well. "Um...sir, I just brought you your food...I didn't say _anything_ to you..."

Crowley felt the room spin a little again, raised his hands to his head and groaned. He shut his eyes...

 _…_ _.a golden thread against pitch black night...pulled...pulled tightly..._

He opened his eyes again to see Castiel was watching him, concerned.

"OK, Gus, let's just let the paramedics take a look at you and get you to a hospital, ok? We'll try to sort out what happened later. Deal?"

It was all Crowley could manage to nod in agreement. His head pounded.

Something was _so wrong_...

* * *

Somewhere in the Void of nothingness...a Being...a Presence...something that was...but wasn't... _listened_...

It heard the summons once again, and, in that blind Void, turned back to it. Focused in on it. Let it guide...

And it _laughed_...in hunger,,,,it _laughed_...

Soon...so very soon...it would _feed_...


	2. Protected

**Protected**

Castiel withdrew the blood-stained Blade slowly, his eyes never leaving his victim. The man gaped back at him, a half-mad grin on his face, his yellow-stained, rotting teeth trying one last attempt at a sinister sneer.

"You..." the man hissed, his dying breath retched even in the clean, forest air, "...you are no true masters..." And with that, he sunk to his knees and pitched forward into the hard-packed earth.

Castiel watched him for a long time, considering, then shook his Blade free of blood, wiped it on the stained cloth hanging on his leather belt, and carefully returned it to it's cloth sheath at his side. He turned his head slightly around, recognizing the figure that had moved up behind him.

"Uriel."

"Well done, Sir Castiel," Uriel replied.

Castiel smiled. "Why are you always so formal, Uriel? We have the exact same rank."

The tall man tilted his head to the side, smiling broadly at Castiel and spread his large hands to the side. Glints of the last remaining light flickered on his highly polished armor. He looked every inch the Knight Angel Protector of the Realm that he was. "And what's wrong with a little polite formality, Sir Castiel? It keeps us...civilized."

Castiel snorted and shook his head. "You still give them so little credit, Uriel."

They both started walking back to their horses, which were tethered to some small trees near the edge of the wood.

"Why should I, Castiel? We've been here, for what? Three centuries now? Serving them, enforcing the rule of law, keeping them safe from the ravages of war and evil that they so willingly allow, and even openly pursue." He shook his head, glancing at Castiel. "Mind your armor, brother..." he added with a murmur, indicating a spot on Castiel's midsection.

Castiel looked down and saw the blood, the blood of the rebel bandit that he had just brought down, dripping from his breastplate. He wiped it away casually with a mutter of thanks and they continued their walk in silence.

"So what you're saying is," Castiel broke the silence after several minutes, "that coming down from Heaven was a waste of time."

Uriel considered this, then smiled tightly. "No. No, of course not, Castiel. It's just these new..." he grimaced. "Bandits. They are seemingly more foul than the usual lot. It has me on edge is all. Father's Will be done."

"Father's Will be done," Castiel repeated in a familiar monotone, nodding.

They reached their horses and slowly coaxed them into a gallop across the open fields leading back to the Citadel, the seat of Angelic justice on the earth. It was a sprawling structure consisting of several tall peaks and towers, all constructed of magnificent, polished white marble and gilded with copious quantities of gold. The human architects that had helped construct it had wanted the Angels to be reminded of their home, and while the castle and it's grounds were indeed impressive, it had only served as a pale and painful reminder of what the Angels had left behind.

Some Angels, Castiel reflected as the ground raced by, all sound in the world silenced by the rhythmic beat of his horses hoof-beats, missed Heaven more than others. Over the many years of their service on earth, some of the Angels had become bitter and resentful. He glanced over at Uriel, who was bent low over his mount, coaxing more speed out of the destrier, and frowned. Uriel was one of the worst, which made it hard for Castiel, as he had always been one of Castiel's best friends and fellow warriors.

That he had changed so profoundly bothered Castiel, and worried at him night and day.

He did agree with him on one thing, though. This new breed of bandit was troubling. More than. Their obsession with the Old Gods, and the ritual tattooing was the worst form of dark magic. Recently, the Angels had been discovering signs of ritual sacrifice, and spellcraft. They were playing with forces beyond their reasoning, and the Angels were beginning to get worried.

The reached the gates of the Citadel, and were hailed by the guards at the portcullis. The bridge lowered on massive, greased wheels and settled with a heavy thump on the ground, sending up a cloud of dry dust.

"Good hunting?" the page asked as he took the reins of their horses as they dismounted. Castiel smiled at the young boy and ruffled his hair.

"It was. Is Michael available to take our report?"

The boy nodded. "Been waiting for it, sir. Like a cat watching a mouse-hole."

Castiel smiled again. "Thank you, Dean. Now, make sure they are well brushed and fed. They've had a long day."

"Will do, sir," Dean replied, smiling back. He led the horses away to the stables.

"I honestly have no idea what Michael sees in that one, in that entire family, as a matter of fact," Uriel grunted once the boy was out of earshot. "He protects the Winchesters as if they were worth their weight in gold."

"He said that he sees a lot himself in Dean," Castiel answered, shaking his head. "Not sure what he meant by it, either." He frowned.

Uriel returned the frown, considering. "Michael is...hard to read, Castiel. Sometimes he has plans within plans. Maybe he intends to use the boy as his Vessel in the future. Does it bother you?" He met Castiel's eyes, then shrugged. "He is the Protector of Heaven, brother. Who am I to ask?"

Castiel nodded briefly in agreement and they headed for the main hall.

* * *

Micheal was having dinner when they walked in, servants gathered around the massive, polished oak table. He waved them forward as he took another bite from a side of honeyed ham.

He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and drank deeply from a wine goblet. Castiel and Uriel reached his side and went to one knee, bowing their heads.

"Rise and report," Michael said in a business-like fashion, waving over a servant to fill his glass.

"The bandit that has been terrorizing the families of the eastern quadrant was found and dispatched, my lord," Uriel replied smoothly. "Sir Castiel delivered the Lord's justice himself."

Micheal nodded in approval and took another drink, watching them both with a discomforting level of intensity over the rim of the cup. "And?" he asked, setting it down and sitting back in his chair.

Castiel hesitated , then reached into the deep pocket of his tunic. "He was carrying this, my lord." he said dryly, handing a rumpled and bound leather scroll to Michael.

Micheal took it and frowned. He brought the scroll slowly to his nose and sniffed it, considering. He raised his eyebrows and met their eyes. "Human skin," he muttered in disgust, then removed the string binding it and unrolled it on the table in front of him, holding down the corners with plates and heavy goblets from the table.

His eyes scanned it briefly and then slowly closed. He shook his head.

"More Dark Magic," he growled under his breath, but it was still loud enough to hear in the suddenly stone-silent room. "Yet again..."

He opened his eyes and slammed his fist into the table in the middle of the scroll, upturning several elements and spilling their contents everywhere. Most of the servants jumped back a bit in surprise at the outburst.

"This is _intolerable_..." he said, his voice still a deep, warning growl. He shook his head. "Bring this to the Magician." A female page hustled over and took up the scroll, holding it gingerly, and bowing to Michael. "And tell him to actually tell me something useful this time, or I'll be finding myself a new wizard."

* * *

Crowley stared at the crystal ball again, squinting against and trying to ignore the pain of the sudden migraine that had assaulted him.

This was impossible.

He shook his head and leaned closer.

The interior of the ball swirled in dark clouds, and there, at it's center, a glowing, golden thread, twisting and wafting in the dark...

He leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Impossible.

The crystal ball was just a _prop_...something he had bought at a local market to fit the part he was to play as Court Magician.

If the Angels ever discovered the truth, the _real_ truth as to the source of his 'powers'...

He shook his head, dismissing the thought. He had taken too many precautions, been able to mask his identity as a Demon with powerful spells, spells guaranteed to keep even the most powerful of those winged choir boys clueless.

He was on a mission. And he would not, _could_ not fail it in, or his life was beyond forfeit.

Hell was losing influence on the humans, sheltered as they were under Angelic rule. Oh, there was still fertile hunting for souls, to be sure, but this Citadel, it was a dead-zone.

Lucifer _hated_ it.

Crowley's mission was a simple one. Gather as much information as possible from within the Citadel itself, discover any weaknesses, and report back his findings to Hell.

' _Simple_ ', he thought, snorting.

Sure, just hide yourself in the middle of a literal army of heavily armed Angels and spy on them. 'Simple'.

He looked around the large chamber in the tower he had built for himself here. Cages with exotic animals. Beakers with boiling, colored liquids. Spellbooks, most of them utter nonsense, stacked to nearly reach the ceiling in uneven columns, the stacks covered in dripping, wax candles. All of it carefully crafted to fit the perfect image of a court magician. It worked – it _was_ working – but his mission was not...

There didn't appear to be _any_ weakness in the Citadel. At least none that he or Hell could exploit to bring it down. If anything, the humans that the Citadel was there to protect were the only problem...

He sat down, rubbing at his head and frowning. These new cults that had been spontaneously springing up...these cults attempting to summon Old Gods...they actually _were_ a problem...he wished that he could take credit for that. It was causing the Angels no end of trouble...

He stopped rubbing his head and looked up, smiling, a thought occurring to him.

Why _couldn't_ he take credit for the cultists? Hell would never know the difference...his smile broadened. That was a brilliant idea...he would claim responsibility for seeding the cults with black magic, tell Lucifer that he had poisoned the humans against the Angels...

He nearly jumped out of skin as there was a sudden knock on the door.

"Yes...yes, yes, just a moment!" he exclaimed, standing up and straightening his robes. He fought off a wave of dizziness and nausea, closing his eyes...

 _…_ _.a golden thread against pitch black night...pulled...pulled tightly..._

His eyes fluttered open and he focused on the room around him. He hurried over and opened it to reveal a blond, prim and proper Citadel page waiting there. She smiled and nodded to him and walked in without an invitation.

He opened his mouth to protest, but she held up her hand to cut him off, striding in and appraising the room.

"This looks more promising," she said, tossing a leather scroll casually onto his upholstered chair. She turned back to him and smiled. "The kind of place one might actually find an ancient spellbook."

"What...what are...you...how dare you barge into... _what is that_!?" Crowley sputtered, pointing at the scroll on his chair, walking over and picking it up. He unrolled it and frowned at it, scanning the writing. "Another scroll of spells for summoning the Old Gods..." he muttered. He looked around the corner of the scroll at the page, who was watching him curiously with her arms crossed. "Did Michael send you to me with this, girl?"

She rolled her eyes. "You can can it with the 'girl' crap right now, Crowley. Or do you want me to go downstairs and tell your 'friends' what you really are?"

He nearly tripped over his own feet scrambling back from her, bracing himself on a table behind him.

"You...you cannot know that! It's impossible!...Unless...you're actually from...who sent you?! Azazel? Lucifer...?"

"Relax, Crowley..." she answered, holding up her hands. "No one's turning you in...and as to who sent me..." her mouth turned up as she considered something. "That's complicated..."

"Yeah? _Try me_...," Crowley shot back, beginning to recover some of his resolve.

"Well...not to put to fine a point on it...but you did," she answered while beginning to rummage through the stacks of books, pushing several of them to the side and to the ground.

Crowley blinked at her in confusion. "Um...excuse me?" he asked, then frowned. "What are you _doing_?"

"Looking for something."

"What, exactly?"

"Something that will save your ass...well...all of your asses..." she said, turning from one stack of books to another.

Crowley frowned. "Your...manner of speech...it is...so..."

"Different?" she called back over her shoulder from a corner. "Yeah, wow, I mean, this place is so...retro. The Angels arriving here has stunted this world's growth severely...it's like it's stuck in the Middle Ages..."

"The Middle...?"

She sighed and turned around towards him. "Forget it. You won't get it, and we have no time left..." She looked out of the window and paled. Crowley followed her eyes, but saw nothing. But he could have sworn that he heard a faint... _laughter_...on the night wind...a cold, humorous sound...

She swallowed hard and rushed over to him, grabbing his shoulders, giving them a shake.

"Look, Crowley, I am not _about_ to lose another one...do you have a book...an ancient book of spells...bound in human skin...something old...powerful...?"

Crowley frowned. "Who _are_ you?"

"No time!" She looked over her shoulder again at the window, then back at Crowley, her eyes filling with visible panic. "The book, _please_...!"

"You first," Crowley hissed, steadying his gaze.

She sighed and shook her head. "You idiot...it doesn't even matter...you wouldn't even understand..."

"Then tell me," he replied calmly.

"Fine...I'm Atropos, Ok? Happy now? _Where's the book_?!" She looked over her shoulder again and moaned. "Oh no...nonono..."

Crowley looked over at the window, but still saw nothing. He did get the impression that it had become...darker, however.

"Atropos...one the Fates?" He frowned. "Even if that _were_ true, what would you be doing here...?"

She sunk to the ground. "Crowley...listen to me. I only have time to say this once. If I don't get that book in the next few seconds, you and your entire world are gone." She raised her eyes to him, and in that instance he saw a steely resolve...and also a weariness, a frustration...the look of a soldier that had been battling for far too long...

He nodded, then strode over to his desk. She watched him, her eyes filling with hope.

He reached the desk and inserted his heavy signet ring into a lock on the center drawer there, turning it. There was a heavy click and he slid the drawer out, gathering up the large tome inside of it. The 'Book of the Damned', his mother had called it before he had stolen it from her library. It was one of the only true book of spells inside the magician's chambers.

He looked up to see Atropos standing on the other side of the desk, her eyes wide.

"I...I don't believe it...do you have any _idea_ how many worlds...how many realms...?" she shook her head, then held out her hands. "Give it me...quick!"

Crowley began to hand it to her, then hesitated. "Wait...why do you need...?"

He was cut off as suddenly there was a howling, hollow wind that blew into the chamber, seemingly extinguishing all light and heat. He saw something moving in that blackness...something _hungry_ , he felt... _teeth_...scraping against his skin, ripping...tearing... _laughing_ with malicious hunger as it fed...

He felt the Book ripped out of his hands, then there was a sudden, painful burst of light. He felt the migraine burst into full life again. That burning, glowing thread in the dark pulled taught, threatening to rip...

Then that tension released. The thread relaxed, no longer being torn. Light and warmth, such as it was despite the late hour, seemed to flood back into his magician's chamber. His migraine was gone, the after-image of the glowing thread disappearing from his vision with every blink of his eyes. Atropos sat on the floor, the Book clasped tightly to her chest, panting. She looked up to Crowley, a look of pure relief on her face,

"Got one..." she said breathlessly, still smiling, tears welling up in her eyes as she looked at Crowley. She stood up slowly and placed the Book reverently on the table. She looked around the room and nodded. "All in all, not a bad little world." She turned back to Crowley and winked. "Enjoy it."

Then she was gone.

* * *

In the Void, the Creature screamed in Hunger.

So close...so _close_...

It snarled, enraged. Hungry. It had been _hurt_.

It re-focused on the little waves of light...the threads waving in the Dark, the endless, infinite, waves of light, love and life...

And from them...whispers...summoning...voices that called for it... _willingly_ called for it to come and devour them...return them to the Pureness...the Darkness...

It's Hunger rumbled in the Void as it moved to answer those whispering voices.

It had to _feed_...


	3. Wise Council

**Wise Council  
**

Rowena stared at the scrying pool and stepped back, blinking.

 _Impossible._

She closed her eyes and shook her head. Somewhere in the back of her head, she realized that she was forgetting something.

Oh yes.

The door.

„Enter," she said calmly, indicating absolutely zero concern that whomever was knocking had been doing so for well over an hour. The small electric pin-light indicating a visitor outside blinked busily over it.

The heavy oaken door, covered in Runecraft, swung open, and a very tall man in an elegantly trimmed and tailored business-suit walked in, wearing a tophat, which he removed swiftly, executing an immaculate and deep bow.

„High-Mistress of the Council, I am at your service."

Rowena arched an eyebrow. „ _You_ are the one that indeed requested this appointment, correct?"

The man straightened up and looked down at an ornate timepiece attached to his wait by a silver chain. He looked up and raised an eyebrow back at her.

„Quite some time ago, as a matter of fact, Mistress," he said, smirking a little.

Rowena smiled genially in return and sighed. She walked over to a desk and flipped on the light there. She also pressed a switch and the window aperture began to grate open on several moving metal plates, letting in the night air. The glow of the city lights far below her office at the top of the Tower of Mages granted a bit of illumination to the otherwise darkened chamber.

„You will have to excuse me, Samuel….Winchester, isn't it?", she asked. The man nodded his head deeply in acknowledgment. „Of course, it is extremely rude of me to keep the representative of the Men of Letters waiting for so long. There are…concerning matters occurring."

Sam Winchester's face twisted into a look of worry and interest. „Is it something that the Men of Letters can assist you with?"

Rowena hesitated. It actually was something that she would need help with, if what she had seen was accurate; she absolutely could not handle this herself. But it was a political question, really, for to show such an eager willingness to ask for assistance from another large Magical Guild, let alone such a….militant one as the Men of Letters….she shook her head.

„No," she lied smoothly, waving her hand. „The situation requires further investigation before I can assess what measures need to be taken."

„I…see," Sam answered slowly. She caught his eyes flick over to her scrying pool. She smiled at him and pressed a button on her desk, and a similar mechanism to the one on the window closed it off with a metallic snap.

Sam cleared his throat. „You are, of course, correct to insist, Mistress. To business, then." He moved over in front of her desk, and she indicated one of the seats in front of it with her hand. He sat down and reached into his pocket, producing a paper, signed and sealed with an intricate wax stamp.

„It has…happened again, Mistress, I'm afraid," Sam said simply, turning the paper on the desk towards her. „I am truly sorry to be the bearer of such unfortunate news."

She glanced down at the paper and read it briefly, then shut her eyes.

„Was anyone hurt?"

Sam raised in eyebrows in genuine surprise. Rowena opened her eyes and caught the gesture.

„Surprised that I would ask?"

Sam cleared his throat and shook his head. „No…no, of course not Mistress, it was just that…."

„That you heard that I was an ice-cold dragon-bitch," she answered smiling, cutting him off. „Well, Mr. Winchester, while some of those rumors _might_ indeed be true, it does not mean that when there are matters concerning my….offspring," her mouth twisted distastefully at the word, „...that I am, naturally, concerned about…." She hesitated, visibly struggling to find the correct word.

„Collateral damage," Sam provided, nodding.

She smiled kindly in relief and gratitude. „Yes, one could call it that." In truth, it would be devastating to her authority if Crowley had managed to hurt anyone. She had put herself out on a limb by personally all but guaranteeing to the Mage Council elders that he would never have another...'episode'.

Then she had lost track of him, despite having put some of her best Mages assigned to the guard detail.

„But no, Mistress, fortunately, no one was hurt. There was some property damage…."

She sighed. „Which pub and how much damage?"

Sam smiled painfully. „ _Impala's_ , and, quite a lot, actually."

Rowena's eyes widened involuntarily, but she regained her composure quickly.

„A well known and successful establishment. That would be your brother….Dean, was it? ...that would be his pub, correct?"

Sam nodded.

„Hence, the personal visit," Rowena sighed yet again, finishing her train of thought. „Of course, the Council will cover your brother's loss." She frowned and reached into her desk, pulling out the crafted Goldmark, pressing it dutifully over the wax seal. The magic imbued in the coin would transfer the required funds automatically to the balance required. She replaced the marker in her drawer. „Where is he now?" She asked, not looking back up at Sam, instead fidgeting with the contents of her desk, fussily re-arranging them.

Sam rolled up the paid notice and tucked it safely back in his jacket. „In jail, actually."

„That bad?"

Sam nodded. „I'm afraid so."

„Which one?" She asked hesitantly. But she could already guess. If the damage was _that_ extensive….

„The Angels have him."

She nodded slightly, her worries confirmed. „Thank, Mr. Winchester. Once again, I extend my apologies, and to your brother as well. I will see to this matter personally."

Sam smiled and stood up, bowing deeply again. „Thank you for your time Mistress." He seems to hesitate, and she caught him looking back over at the closed scrying pool. „And again….if there's anything…."

She waved her hand, already standing up and getting her jacket to leave the room. „No, no, as I've said, it is a Council concern. Nothing more."

She waited until he left, then sank back into her heavily padded leather chair. She closed her eyes and rubbed at her temple, letting out a groan.

As if what she had seen in the scrying pool wasn't bad enough….

* * *

„Fergus."

Crowley raised his eyes and saw, blearily, the absolute last person on the entire planet that he had wanted to see.

 _Ever, really_ , he added to himself sarcastically.

„Fergus, look at me."

Crowley lifted up his bedraggled face and managed a condescending smile.

„Mother. How…. lovely it is to see you again. I'd offer you a drink, but…."

Rowena simply stood there, stock-still, her eyes icy, hands clasped primly in front of her.

Crowley sighed. „That was a joke."

"A poor one."

Are you going to get me out of here, or what?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. „Or what, I should say. It all depends."

Crowley felt a small jolt of alarm. „'Depends' on what, exactly? You couldn't seriously be considering leaving me here with these…."

„And why not?" Rowena cut him off sharply.

„Because they're Angels, for one. Isn't that enough?"

She met his eyes, but did not speak.

„Mother, they don't exactly like… .my type…. surely I don't have to explain that to you…."

„You promised me, Fergus. I made promises as well, for that matter…."

„Oh, that…:" Crowley grunted, leaning back in his cell and clasping his hands. „So, the ‚depends' part is me explaining to you what happened?"

Rowena indicated her head slightly.

„As if you need to ask….."

„Humor me, Fergus."

Crowley winced. She knew that he hated that name.

„Did someone get hurt this time….?" He asked, worried. That would not only explain her colder-than-usual behavior, but also complicate his getting out of prison immensely. There were things even the head Mistress of the Council of Mages couldn't brush under the so-called rug.

Rowena crossed her arms and let out a deep breath, rolling her eyes. „No. Thank the powers."

Crowley let out a breath of his own he didn't realize he was holding. Hurting or causing harm to someone with Magic would have been pretty much the end of the proverbial line for him. He would have been Burned-Out, Muted and Cast-Out among the masses. And with a record. He would have died penniless, miserable, friendless and hungry.

„You seemed to have survived as well…" Rowena added. „Can't fault the powers for being ironic…."

 _At least that demise would have brought this bitch down with him_ , he thought, his glare full of poison.

They stared daggers at each other for a long, uncomfortable time before Rowena began to tap her foot rapidly. She looked away.

„So?", she asked vaguely.

Crowley let the question hang in the air for a bit., then he lay back fully on the prison cot and propped his feet up on the cement wall. He glanced over to see that Rowena was staring at him angrily, waiting for an answer. He rolled his eyes.

„No, I was not drunk. No, it was not deliberate, and no I have no memory of it."

Crowley noticed Rowena's face relax slightly, her shoulders as well. „And you would testify to that? Even before a Stone?"

Crowley winced. She meant a Cairn Stone, of course, a rather painful way of extracting the truth from people suspected of lying. He had actually been dragged before five of him in his lifetime.

„Yes, I actually would, but I would truly like to avoid that."

She nodded. „Well, we'll see, it's literally out of my hands now." She walked to the end of the hall outside of the cell and spoke in whispers to the guard there. He came back with her, an Angel with blue eyes and rumpled, dark-brown hair.

„This is the Angel Castiel," Rowena said. „He's agreed to release you to my custody, but only under close observation."

„From you?" Crowley raised his eyebrows in surprise. „Mother, where will you ever find the time?"

„From me, actually," the Angel cut in in a gravelly, harsh voice. He fumbled in his jacket and produced a set of keys, which he unlocked the cell with. „I will be with you for the next two days. I will assess the level of danger that you pose to yourself and to society in general."

„Oh…. _joy_ ," Crowley grumbled dryly.

Castel met his eyes with a steel-hard gaze. „You are like a ticking time bomb, if I understand the history of your…..'events' that I read. It may be time to defuse that bomb."

„What is that supposed to mean?" Crowley answered back warningly. „You going to put me down like a dog?"

„If it comes to that…."

„I'd _love_ to see you try it, choir-boy,"

„Boys!" Rowena interjected sternly. „Play nice. Or this is going to be a very long two days." She fixed her gaze on Crowley. „He is an Angel. He will follow the rules. Period. Be sure not to break them."

„Yes, mother, but…:"

She held up her hand to stop him. „And you," she said, turning to Castiel. „He is an innocent. These visions are not his doing. They come from somewhere beyond. An outside influence. It has been nearly a decade since the last one, and until I and the Mages can determine exactly what is causing them, he _remains_ innocent, and thus by Divine Law is under the protection of the Angels, do _you_ understand?

Castiel watched her, then nodded reluctantly.

„Good. Then. Let's go back to that bar and see if we can't put some of the pieces together, shall we?"

* * *

What was left of Impala's was barely recognizable as ever having been anything resembling a building, let alone a two-story club.

„ _He_ did this?" Castiel asked incredulously, turning to Rowena, open-mouthed.

„You've read the reports, you told me that yourself," Rowena answered dryly, surveying the damage.

„Yes, but seeing it…:" Castiel shook his head. „This can't be allowed to..."

She held up a hand. „You do _not_ be wanting to finish that statement, Angel. We haven't even started our investigation."

„Yes, but…."

She held out her hand more emphatically, and Castiel slumped. „Allright, but if you can't stop him…."

„Fair enough," she answered. „Now, where's Dean?"

Dean Winchester was sitting on a burned out cross-beam drinking a beer. Judging by the number of empty bottles collected around his feet, he had been at it for a long time.

„Bar's closed….didn't you see the sign outside?" He said sarcastically, tipping the bottle and not looking in their direction.

„We have some questions, Mr. Winchester," Castiel said.

„Dean….and the police have already asked me all the questions I'll be wanting to answer at this particular moment in my life."

„We're not the police."

Dean looked over at them disinterestedly, until his eyes settled on Crowley standing behind them. His eyes widened in sudden shock and fear and he dropped the beer, the bottle shattering over the debris-strewn floor. He awkwardly tried to put the cross-beam between him and them.

„You crazy?! You brought this guy back here?!", he yelled, jabbing his finger and arm at Crowley. He squinted at them and titled his head to the side. „Don't I know you?", he asked, looking at Rowena, then he turned his gaze over to Castiel. His mouth closed with an audible click, and he moved his head and neck backwards in surprise „Are you a freaking _Angel_?"

„Yes."

Dean's eyes widened some more, then he nodded in approval. „Well, yeah, good then….this guy used magic and trashed my club….go ahead…burn him out, or whatever it is that you guys do. Just make sure that when you're done, you get him the hell out of here."

„It's not that simple," Rowena said, moving closer and setting up a barstool that was still mainly intact, balancing it firmly on the floor. She sat down, managing to look prim while doing it. „You see, Mr_ Winchester, you are, in fact, the first actual witness to one of my son's ….episodes….and I'd like to know more about it."

„ _That's_ where I know you…." Dean muttered. He rummaged around in the detritus a bit and came out with a fresh beer, which he popped open and began drinking. „You're the head of the Mage's Council, aren't you?" He took a deep pull and shook his head, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. „And he's your son? Well….isn't _that_ just great…."

„Mr. Winchester…."

„I mean, hell, at least I know you can actually pay for the damages…."

„It's already been paid for…."

„But the likelihood of you stopping your son from doing this again is like….what? Zero-point-zero?"

„Mr Winchester!" Rowena shouted. Dean stopped and stared. Rowena nodded. „That's _exactly_ what I'm trying to do. Now, in your own words, please, what happened? And please, do not spare any details."

Dean stared, then nodded, taking another deep drink. „Allright, so….this guy comes stumbling in off the street into my bar….," he began, pointing at Crowley with the half-full beer.

„Drunk?" Rowena interupted. Crowley shot her a withering glance.

„Nah, see that's what I thought at first too. But I happened to be near the door and grabbed him…."

„And?"

Dean shook his head. „Not a trace of alcohol on his breath." Rowena turned back to Crowley, who gave her his best 'told-you-so' look that he could muster.

„Anyway, his eyes….I thought it was a trick of the light…."

Rowena leaned forward. „What about his eyes?"

„Well, like I said, it was dark in here….but….they looked to be solid black."

Crowley noticed the Angel go very stiff, his hand then slowly moving into his coat for something.

Rowena leaned back and tapped her chin. „Interesting, go on."

„Well, he started yelling and screaming….flailing around…."

„Was he saying anything specific?"

Dean shook his head. „Not that I could make out. I mean, some of it…."

„Go on…."

Crowley was now watching the Angel very carefully out of the corner of his eye, and became aware that the Angel was doing the same thing to him, jaw clenched, a drop of sweat appearing on his temple. He saw the flash of silver in his hands before the Angel could turn and flung himself behind the rubble that used to be the bar just as the Angel's arm came swinging around in an arc towards where he had just been standing. Rowena jumped, startled, then flung the chair back from herself and raised her hands.

„ _Et non tenetur stare, Dive, meae. Ut moveri non dum dimissi sunt!_ "

Castiel froze like a statue, grunting in an effort to move forward.

„What the hell?!" Dean exclaimed, jumping back. „What's that all about!?"

„He's….a…..demon…:" Castiel grunted through clenched teeth. „Must….be….destroyed….."

„He is _nothing_ of the kind, Angel!" Rowena exclaimed, huffing. „He was channeling, as far as I can tell, and while it may have been a force of Darkness that he was channeling, he is, himself, no demon! Now stand down, or I will be forced to hold you here!" She turned back to Dean. „Now, what did you understand from my son's rantings? Speak!"

Dean blinked and set his beer down. „Um….nothing, something about a book…."

„What book?"

„I dunno, he said ‚Book of the Damned' or something like that, then he just lost it…..flames shot out everywhere, blast like a bomb…."

Rowena stared, then waved her hand. Castiel was visibly freed from the spell and looked reluctantly back and forth between Rowena and Crowley, who was still ducking down behind the bar and watching Castiel carefully. He grunted and replaced his Blade.

„The Book of the Damned…." She whispered, repeating Dean's words.

„Do you have it?" came a voice from the back of the ruins. A figure stepped out, wearing a tight t-shirt with the name ‚ _Impala's_ ' embroidered on it in stylized script.

„Who is that?" Crowley asked, poking his head out from behind the bar, a wary eye still on Castiel.

„Um….Attie…." Dean muttered. „Started working here last week…." He blinked. „What are _you_ still doing here?" he asked her, puzzlement on his face.

She looked at Dean, a look of pity and sadness on her face. Then she looked back to Rowena. „The Book of the Damned. Do you have one?"

Rowena regarded her, a look of curiosity and fascination on her face. „I know you," she stated matter-of-factly.

Attie looked a bit surprised. „You do?"

„You are ancient. One of the three Sisters, as a matter of fact. What are you doing here?"

Attie's eyes widened. „Your realm…..you use magic here….."

Rowena frowned. „Our….'realm'? Do you mean to imply our dimension?"

Attie nodded. „You are very well versed here. More than most of the realms. There may be hope."

The blood drained out of Rowena's face. „Hope….hope for what?"

„To save you from the Darkness."

Rowena's vision flashed back to the scrying pool…..

 _...her world….a vision of light and fire….stretched out in the Darkness and Void…teeth, great, hungry teeth closing in all around them….the fire going out…..swallowed…._

She blinked and found Attie staring at her.

„You've seen it, haven*t you?"

„Yes. But….our _Realm_ ….it is not ….I'd always assumed….what with our knowledge of the workings of the universe and use of magic in it's purest form….because of our close communion with Heaven and it's Angels….I am of course aware of other dimensions and worlds..."

Attie nodded. „You thought that you were the Prime Realm….the Center of the Weave…..Creation, didn't you?"

Rowena looked away, tears welling in her eyes. „We are not, are we?"

Attie looked sad, and shook her head. „No." She hesitated. „And…the Book?"

Rowena began to weep openly now. „Well….in our ‚vast wisdom', we decided that that particular book was too dangerous to be allowed to exist…..so…."

Attie's head bowed. „Oh."

"Yes, 'oh'," Rowena repeated in a croaking gasp. „What happens now?"

Attie turned away. „It's almost here."

Crowley had risen from the rubble and was standing near Castiel. „Mother, what in the hell are you two talking about….?" he asked worriedly, his brow furrowed in confusion.

„Without the Book….you were using it to link the Realms to the Core of Creation, correct?" Rowena asked hollowly, almost clinically. „A sort of a life-raft? Clever, really. And my son? His visions….a beacon? You use manifestations of him to locate the Book, and use the Book itself as a re-occurring, fixed locus." She nodded to herself and wiped at her eyes with shaking hands. „It's about the only thing of magic powerful enough to do it, isn't it?"

Attie smiled thinly. „You are very wise, here."

Rowena barked out a laugh. „For all the good that will do us…." She looked at Attie, wonder and horror mixed on her face. „My Heavens, child, how many Realms have you visited….?"

Attie smiled and shook her head. „If I think of it in terms of raw numbers, I would go mad. I am a Fate. This is my nature. I am the only one that _can_ do this, actually."

Rowena nodded, then stared at the floor, her face going blank from weariness and sadness.

.„How long do we….?"

Her sentence was never finished.

The Creature fed, the burning Light of the Realm flaring in it's endless, hollow gut, before disappearing.

Forever.


	4. The Show Must Go On

**The Show Must Go On**

"Wake up dipshit!" the harsh, nasal voice rang in his ears, followed by the predictable sound of the baton banging against the bars of his cells.

These humans were so petty.

"It is still two hours before wake-up call," Virgil responded calmly.

The guard grinned and elbowed his partner. "Yeah, genius, two hours, sure, but let us hear the rest of it,"

Virgil turned over and opened one eye, regarding them with open disdain.

"How many minutes and seconds?", the guard asked, leaning in, his knuckles tightening meaningfully on his baton. "C'mon, out with it."

Virgil eyed the baton and sighed. He hated these pitiful mortals.

"Three minutes and twenty two seconds," he muttered, turning back over and onto his side. "May I return to my rest now?"

"Check it, " the guard said to his partner, who was looking down at his stopwatch in disbelief.

"I don't freakin' believe it..." he muttered.

"Ha!" the first guard shouted, slapping his partner on his chest. "Told ya' so. Pay up, rookie!"

"How'd he do that...?" the guard with the stopwatch muttered. He leaned up to the bars of Virgil's cell and rattled them with his keys. "Hey! Inmate! How'd you do that?"

"Oh man, you don't wanna go down this path, Carlo, believe me..."

Virgil rolled over and smiled tightly. "If I tell you, will you leave me be?"

"Ah hell..." the first guard muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah...tell me," Carlo asked.

"I'm an Angel of the Lord, you pitiful mortal maggot," Virgil sighed. "I know the number of the stars in the sky, and the grains of sand on a beach. Also the limited days in your short, mortal life. Down to the last minute and second. Now, let me sleep."

Carlo blinked in confusion and leaned back, looking back and forth between his partner and Virgil. "Wha...what does he mean by that... Julio?" All Julio did was chuckle into his fist, pretending to stifle a cough. Carlo narrowed his eyes and glared back at Virgil. "Hey, freak-show! I'm talkin' to ya'! Whatd'ya mean by that?!"

Julio put a hand on his partner's shoulder and nodded back at the door to the cell block. "C'mon, man, it ain't worth it...believe me..."

Carlo pulled his shoulder away. "Nah, I wanna hear this..."

Virgil was staring at the guard now, angry. "As I said, human, I am an Angel of the Lord. Or...I was, before I came to be trapped in this wretched place. I was the Weapons Master of Heaven."

Carlo blinked. He turned back to Julio, who shrugged, an 'I-told-you-so' expression on his face.

"He for real with this crap?", Carlo asked, jerking his thumb back at Virgil.

"'Fraid so," Julio answered. "Can we get goin' now? You owe me a twenty."

Carlo turned back to Virgil, meeting his eyes. He shivered, but did not break the stare. "What'd this guy kill...? Like five people back in Vancouver? That was seven years ago, right?"

"Good memory," Julio answered.

Carlo continued his stare-down with Virgil. "Ain't hard to remember, it was all over the news. This whack-job goes off on a TV show set...what was it? Oh, yeah, Supernatural. Cuts one guy's throat, an actor, Mikkie something..."

"Misha."

"Yeah, that's it. Then he shows up on the set after robbing a gun store. Shot a random customer. Then he goes and shoots the show producer and director. A couple of crew members. A couple of actors took him down. Made 'em nice and famous. Real-life heroes and crap. The family of the director, Singer, wasn't it? His wife..." he closed his eyes, remembering. "...Eugenie...was all over the news, too...successfully petitioned the court to have his ass extradited here to NY...sound about right?"

Virgil continued to glare, unblinking.

"Where he's getting the chair. Insanity defense fell short. What you got left, freak? A week?"

Virgil's mouth twisted up in a mocking grin.

"It appears so."

Carlo smiled evilly in return and leaned closer.

"Yeah...but how many minutes and seconds left there, 'Weapons Master'?", he whispered. He shook his head and turned away back to Julio, who was watching the whole exchange with wide eyes. "C'mon Julio. We're done here. Good riddance to bad trash."

Virgil watched them go, then slowly closed his eyes, trying to drift back to sleep.

He did, in fact, welcome his end.

Anything to get off of this magic-less, God-less planet.

* * *

"Cut!", the director Charles Beeson yelled, squinting down at the monitor. He hit rewind and checked the shot again. Take eight. Jensen and Jared were pretty flawless...but the new guy playing Castiel this year...Lyons...the studio was on their fifth Castiel after Misha had been murdered. And if the fans didn't like him...

Let alone that this Hollywood prick couldn't act for shit. Charles shook his head. This new guy had had all of one movie to his credit, and he acted like his shit didn't stink.

He smiled grimly to himself. _Well, at least that's_ one _thing he can actually pull off, acting-wise_ , he thought sarcastically, wincing at the myriad of mistakes in the last scene.

"Season Thirteen..." he muttered. He looked over at the producer looking over his shoulder and shook his head. "How'd I get dragged into this again, Jim?"

Jim shrugged. "Because you said 'yes'" after Bobby got shot?" Jim replied bluntly.

"Oh yeah. That was it. Thanks," Charles sighed, leaning back from the monitor. "OK, folks! Not bad!", he shouted. "Jared, a little stiff, but serviceable. David?" he said, turning to the 'Castiel' character, now being played by David Lyons. The prick was flirting with one of the set assistants, a pretty blond with thick glasses and a clipboard. He sighed. "David?!" he repeated, louder. David jolted and looked over, smiling.

"Yeah, C.B.?"

Charles smiled humorously. "The voice again, David. The damned voice. It's high. Again. Way. Too. High."

David grimaced. "C'mon, boss, you telling me you can't use it?"

"Yeah, David. Sorry. We need to go again." He watched Jared and Jensen groan and head back to first positions.

"Action!"

"Supernatural, Season 13, Episode 15, take nine," the assistant droned, clapping down the marker.

* * *

A few hours later, Jensen leaned back in his trailer and flipped the channel to ESPN, watching the football scores flash by, paying very little attention to them.

 _God, that new Castiel is bad_ , he thought bitterly, pulling a cold beer out of his fridge. It had taken almost twenty takes to get that last scene, and Charles had finally called it a wrap for the day. There was a knock on his trailer door. He frowned at it before walking over and opening it.

Jared stood there.

"Can I come in?"

Jensen frowned. "Are we...talking to each other?"

Jared smiled sarcastically. "Cute. Seriously, though,"

"Something on your mind?"

"Yours too, if I can guess."

Jensen smiled. "Yeah, man, c'mon in. Want a beer?"

"Sure."

Jensen got him one as Jared stretched out his large frame into one of the beige plush leather chairs. He closed his eyes and let his head fall back.

"Man, I'm thinking this is a sign," he said to the ceiling.

Jensen sighed. "I know. But...are you serious this time?"

Jared picked his head back up and watched Jensen for a minute. Then he nodded. "Yeah. I think...this time I'm serious. But...it's like we said, I won't leave unless you do too."

Jensen nodded slowly and took a long swig of beer. "Man, this new guy..."

"Dude, I'm tellin' ya," Jared answered swiftly. "It's a fucking sign."

Jensen grimaced. "You remember the backlash after Season Nine?" he asked, gesturing with his beer.

"Don't remind me. Brutal."

"Exactly. And this guy...this guy is worse...let's face it man, this show doesn't _work_ without Misha in it. Man, we have got to cut out now..."

Jared nodded. "See? I knew you were thinking the same thing..." He paused, thinking. "I mean, we've said this before, though..."

"I'm serious this time. It's so time to go...you talked to Gen about this?"

Jared nodded. "She's all for it. More time with the kids. No Canada;" he smiled. "I mean, maybe I can pick up a gig in a couple of years or so. You?"

"'Bout the same. Except..."

Jared raised his eyebrows. "Except what?"

Jensen smiled mischievously.

"Oh man, you already got something lined up?" Jared exclaimed, leaning forward. "Oh shit...it's Marvel, isn't it? Don't tell me you finally nailed Marvel?"

Jensen's grin widened and he winked and took another swig of beer.

"You dick!" Jared shouted, throwing a pillow at Jensen.

"Hey man! Watch it!" Jensen protested, swatting it away. They both settled back in their chairs, thinking to themselves silently.

"What about Mark?" Jensen asked finally.

"'P' or 'S'?"

"Oh please man, you think I give a crap about 'P'? 'S', naturally," Jensen snorted in response.

"Shit, Jensen, you think Mark can't find a job in less than a minute? He makes like two calls, max, and he's in."

Jensen nodded. They remained silent again for a while the TV droned out the last night's scores.

"Man...we're really gonna do this, aren't we?" Jensen whispered.

Jared nodded, then raised his beer high into the air. "To the end. Of Supernatural. Finally."

Jensen nodded and held his own beer up. "'Bout damn time."

There was another knock on the trailer door and Jared looked over questioningly at Jensen, who shrugged in confusion. He got up and answered it.

"You got a minute?" a rough voice asked from outside.

"Mark? Whatcha need man?" Jensen answered, surprised.

Mark Sheppard walked into the trailer and stopped short, noticing Jared there. He raised his eyebrows. "Did I miss the memo about the cast meeting?"

"No man...we were just talking...actually, it's a good thing you're here..."

Mark sat down heavily in a chair and blew out a breath, putting his hands on his knees. "It's over, boys."

"Wait...huh?" Jensen answered.

Mark looked up at him, and also turned his head to Jared. "I mean, I just...look, fellas, I know it's bad enough with the Castiel situation being what it is...but..."

"Wait...you telling us that you're _walking_?" Jared asked, incredulous.

"Um...yeah...I'm really very sorry..."

Jensen barked out a laugh. Mark looked up at him, confused. "Are you all right?"

Jensen shook his head. "No...yeah..." He laughed again. "We _just literally_ decided the same thing..."

Mark's eyes widened, looking back and forth between the two of them. "You are _kidding_ me..."

"No joke, man," Jared smiled. "Want a beer?"

Mark smiled. "Water is fine, if you have it."

Jensen snapped his fingers and pointed at him. "Oh, right, you don't..." he made a motion of drinking, and Mark smiled tightly back in affirmation. Jensen filled a glass with water and handed it to Mark, who inclined his head in thanks and raised it high. "Unbelievable," he muttered. He smiled. "I suppose a toast is in order, then?"

"We were just doing that, too."

Mark laughed. "Appropriate. Then, allow me to join you. Gentlemen! Raise your glasses. To the sudden, but welcome, end to thirteen years of complete and total tripe! Let it live forever on in the annals of television's prestigious history."

"Speak for yourself, ya limey bastard, you haven't been here that long," Jensen grumbled. They clinked their glasses together and drank deeply.

"And, by-the-way. I'm Scottish, you Yankee idiot," Mark grumbled good-naturedly.

"And I'm a Texan," Jensen shot back. "Ain't got no use for a damned Yankee."

"Touche," Mark smiled back.

There was another knock on the door.

"The hell...?" Jensen said, getting up and walking to the door. "I swear to god, if this is Pellegrino, I am telling him to fuck right off..."

He opened the door, and a young, blond, serious looking girl with glasses was standing there, clutching a clipboard to her chest.

"Um..." Jensen started, then recognition showed up in his eyes. He snapped his fingers. "Wait...I know you...Angie...Arya..."

"Attie," she smiled. "May I come in?"

"Uh...what...did you need something? I mean, shooting's wrapped for today, right?"

"Just about, I'm afraid," Attie replied, frowning. "No, it's something else that I need to talk to you about."

Jensen hesitated. "Uh...sure...but...I really don't know you that well..." he stopped, a thought coming to him. "Oh shit, don't tell me that that prick did something to you... shit girl, I don't know if we can help you...I mean, short of kicking his smarmy ass..."

"No, actually. I just need to see something. For myself." Her eyes went over Jensen's shoulder to rest on Mark. "With him."

Jensen followed her gaze and the look of confusion got deeper, but he didn't seem to know what to say. "Uh...Mark?"

Mark shrugged in confusion. "No idea, mate."

Attie looked back at Jensen and raised her eyebrows. Finally, he shrugged and moved aside. "Ok, then, I guess...come on in...but...if this is going to be a scene, I'm calling set security..."

She smiled at him as she moved past him. She walked in front of Mark and leaned down looking into his eyes. She sighed in seeming disappointment after a few seconds and straightened up. "It's true then, There's absolutely no magic here. No Angels. No Demons. Completely cut off."

Mark smiled nervously and looked at Jensen and Jared. "Pardon me? Fellas...do you know anything about...?"

Jared held up his hands. "Don't look at me, man..."

"Allright, joke's over, security time," Jensen muttered, moving to his phone.

Attie smiled sadly. "Go ahead. It won't matter in a few moments anyway."

Jensen looked up, alarmed. "What...what do you...are you packing..." he looked over at Jared. "Is she...?"

Jared looked her up and down and shook his head.

Attie met Jensen's eyes.

"I'm so sorry."

* * *

 _As the Darkness fed, it was...surprised...it seemed that there was a child of the Lightbringer in the World that it ate. And it didn't fight. Instead, it seemed...grateful._

* * *

 _"_ _She's losing too many!", a voice screamed in the Void. "We need to bring her back!"  
"No!" a woman's voice screamed back, seeming to echo across several wavelengths at the same time, creating a sound not unlike feedback. "Just a few more...I can save them!"_

 _"_ _We're going to lose them_ all _if we wait any longer!" the voice protested._

 _"_ _Trust me!" the woman answered. "Please!"_

 _"_ _...Allright, Atropos. You win. But for God's sake. Hurry."_


	5. The Truth

**The Truth**

I'm going to tell you something that you may or may not believe.

Let me rephrase that – I'm going to _share_ with you something that is real. Afterwards, you may choose to believe in it or not. But, in the end, it really doesn't matter. Because it _is_ real. Whether you believe in it now or not. If you choose to examine it further, the light of it's truth will eventually become apparent, because that is what happens with universal truths.

And that's what makes the world so special. There are truths in them. And with a little examination, they can be revealed as such.

But, I'm getting a little away from my point.

The truth is this: this world is one of many worlds. Infinite worlds, really. No one's really sure about that part, because the human mind simply isn't designed to have a grasp on the infinite. It is constrained by time, and by result, numbers. Basically, the short-hand is this: everything that has a possibility of occurring, or existing, does. That kind of throws that whole 'truth' thing into a blender, doesn't it? How can anything be an _absolute_ truth when _everything_ is possible? Well, that's the entire point – the universe is infinite – and _anything_ can occur in it. Hell, even right now, I'd guess that this dictation of mine is being written and read somewhere inside of some alternate dimension where it only exists as some fantasy story, a trifle of fiction. But, you know? That doesn't bother me. Not in the least. That's the truth, and there's no changing it. Thre's a peace and safety and solidity in that that I like.

Unfortunately, that truth is the reason that I'm shaking in deep, unimaginable fear right now.

But, this is rude, I haven't even introduced myself. My name is Castiel Novak, and I'm a senior investigator for the FBI. I've managed to work myself straight into the basement...but that's not a bad thing. In fact, that's exactly how I like it.

I started here about twenty-five years ago. On a whim, really. That, and pressure from my friends and family. 'Cas!" they'd shout at me, 'Since you're so obsessed with truth, justice and all that, why don't you do something about it? Join the Army! The CIA, something! Make a difference!'

I ended up here, long story short. Confession: I was a huge X-Files fan, and I kinda saw myself as Fox Mulder. I had no idea I'd wind up mirroring the guy's career so closely, though.

My first few years in the Bureau were pretty standard. Nothing to write home about. Mostly monitoring of suspected terrorists and drug dealers. Went on my fair shade of raids. I had a knack for the 'soldiering' aspect of FBI work.

And it was during my interactions with these 'dregs of society' that I started to notice _them_.

I mean, I had always asked myself the inevitable question: 'Who _were_ these people? The ones whose list of crimes read exactly like a demons resume? What happens to them in their life that makes them choose the paths they walked down? Where is their moral compass? Where is the sense of honor? Their sense of right and wrong? Are morals and right vs. wrong all artificial? How do they justify it?' The answer wasn't as simple as I thought it would be – not for all of the criminals. Some were pretty easy to explain, really. Hard life, hard lessons, not a lot of options. For them, I'd always harbored a feeling of sympathy and understanding. My partner at the time, Agent Milligan, told me to let it go, that it would get in the way of doing what I had to do.

Honestly though , if I hadn't cared as much as I did about them, I wouldn't have noticed 'The Others'.

There were some, the absolute worst of them, that I couldn't conjure up even a hint of sympathy. Psychiatric exams universally ended up classifying those exceptions as 'sociopaths'. I hadn't paid it much attention for years, really, until I had the random thought that there were an awful lot of 'sociopath' diagnoses in my file.

I looked it up online. On Wikipedia, of all places. What I saw there made me immediately want to look deeper. The percentage of criminals that we had labeled as sociopaths was way, way off to the percentage of actual sociopaths in a human population grouping.

Of course, there were several variables here; our psychiatry team could just have been lazy as all hell and get out...or it might have been the fact that I was dealing with the worst of society on a daily basis that had thrown the proportions off. Still – the numbers didn't add up.

So I began to interview them. All of them.

By that time I had enough seniority at the FBI to pursue my own investigations - that is, once all of the forms were filled out and I got approval - I went out to look for answers. Since my investigation was a) not overly time-consuming, or b) costly, it got pushed through without much effort. I titled it as 'a comprehensive study of the pathological nature of the worst offenders on the FBI captured criminals list, and their cause and effect as to their behavior', with the goal in mind of determining whether monitoring of certain behaviors or crimes could help us identify these individuals before they did something truly egregious. I got a couple of raised eyebrows for it, understandably, because it was pretty esoteric, but there wasn't much resistance. FBI Agents at my level were looking for advancement, and as such, they tended to look in the less examined corners of criminal investigation for a unique insight that they could publish and claim as there own, further advancing their careers towards management.

The interviews were….well...let's just say I noticed a distinct pattern interviewing these subjects, even after only a few such meetings. First off they were all incredibly... _snarky_ , for lack of a better word. They seemed obsessed with smiling and cracking jokes, as if the world was a game to them, and our conversations were simply a passing amusement, and an opportunity to try to fluster me. I passed it off at first as a common trait in a sociopaths behavioral patterns, and all of the textbooks backed me up on that, so I ignored it.

Then, after about fifty or so conversations over the course of three years, I noticed a similarity that had turned my blood cold.

I had been up late, listening to tapes of the meetings, and I had gone through about half of them, when one of the prisoners, his name was Alastair Winkle, a sadist and a murderer, said, ' My dear Agent Novak, the answer is right in front of you...you asked me, _again_ , why I had felt it absolutely necessary to skin that family of four? Simple: I'm a frikking Demon.'

It wasn't his dubious claim that caught my attention. It was the fact that I had heard it _before_...just a few tapes back.

I had almost tripped over the small imitation-Indian rug in my apartment as I froze, then rushed back to retrieve the other tape. I shakily plugged the cassette into the reel-to-reel and found what I wanted. The interview had been with a woman named Meg Masters, a dental school drop-out who had gone on a murder spree; splitting open the throats of several unfortunate motorists who had given her a ride while she had been hitchhiking, along with several truckers at gas-stations and Stucky's along the open roads.

' Oh, Clarence...' the tape cooed, (for some reason, she insisted on calling me 'Clarence' – she had never explained why). 'OK, I admit it, I did it...and I loved it...'

'Why?' I heard my own voice on the tape ask, weary and disinterested. I had glanced down at the tape and read that this was the fifth such interview, the fourth in two days. No wonder I had been so tired.

'Because I'm a frikking Demon.'

Same exact words. Same exact inflection.

Now, I am, or I should say, _was_ , not one to even come close to believing in the supernatural. But I believe in coincidence even less. Twelve years in the FBI had taught me that lesson very, very well.

I had stared at the tape after hitting 'stop' for several minutes, my finger shaking. My mind was reeling, because now I started to recall that some of the others had said that as well. Again, same words, same inflection.

I spent the rest of the night and most of the next day replaying the tapes, too wired to sleep. There were five such incidences of the 'Demon' claim. Meg Masters and Alastair Winkle. Plus a woman named Ruby, Chris Rosemond, a former co-pilot who had attempted an act of terrorism on a plane by trying to open the gangway door in mid-flight, and a man named Crowley Ferguson.

The latter was in Washington, so, by way of convenience, I had gone back to see him.

The rest, as they say, is history.

Crowley had been a high-level smuggler and trafficker in exotic goods and materials. He had been a ghost on the FBI's radar for decades, always popping up here and there, pulling a big deal, then disappearing. We had caught him in a sting operation, where we used a couple of civilians looking to buy a stolen and missing artifact from him; an old west Colt .45, that supposedly had belonged to Wyatt Earp, as a matter-of-fact. It had gone missing sometime in the 1960's, and the family of the man who had owned it had been murdered, along with several of the thieves. It was a huge, legendary, unsolved mess in the FBI's cold case files. Practically every agent had read it at some point.

I remember the arrest report on Crowley as being...more than slightly unusual. There had been an almost immediate recommendation for psych-eval. He had told the arresting officers something to effect of 'only agreeing to this arrest because your jail is infinitely safer than what awaits me outside of it.' No one had paid it much attention.

I met for the second time with Crowley and confronted him with his statement. He had seemed pretty amused with the conversation, and with me. But, as I said, snarkiness was nothing new with this group. After I had threatened to have him shipped out of prison to a much less secure looney-bin, he capitulated...and showed me his eyes.

The first time I saw it, I wasn't sure how to react. I remember that I had stood up from my chair, thinking that it was some kind of trick of the low-light in the visiting room.

It hadn't been. His eyes were _truly_ pitch black. I've seen this trick a thousand times by now.

Long story short, I checked him out (to much protestation) as a CI and FBI liaison, in exchange for a lessened sentence, (which he wasn't at all interested in) and round-the-clock FBI protection (which he was very much interested in). I just had to know more about the world he came from.

In retrospect, one should be careful about one asks for in life. What I've seen while working with Crowley over the past decade or so – well – there is literally too much to explain. Suffice it to say; I learned that fundamental truth about anything being possible during those years. I had transformed into a real-world version of Fox Mulder, relegated to the basement at Quantico and being assigned only the most strange, and unsolvable, cases that rolled over to the FBI. I've seen just about everything.

Or, at least I thought I had.

Which brings me to why I am transcribing my thoughts here today. A few hours ago, a woman came to my office, claiming to be an ancient Greek Fate – a deity or goddess named Atropos. Have I mentioned that I was in charge of some very odd stuff? Anyway, 'Atropos' claimed that unless I could produce the original, and renowned, 'Book of the Damned' to use as a focal point to anchor and protect my world, that it would be consumed by a powerful force of Darkness and Chaos – an Old One of H.P. Lovecraft fame, to be precise.

Just another Thursday at the office.

I told her to come back in a half an hour. She seemed to think that was 'cutting it a bit short', but agreed.

I called Crowley immediately, told him to come meet me here, and started this dictation. Because, apparently, either my world has only a short time left to exist, and I am making a vain and, frankly, stupid attempt to record all of this...for whom? If my world is completely destroyed, then there'll be no one left to hear it, right? Unless that theory I proposed about alternate dimensions earlier is true. It probably is. So, I'm not wasting my time after all. Suddenly I feel better about all of this.

Plus, we actually _do_ have that book. As I mentioned before, Crowley dealt in stuff like this for decades.

So, see you on the other side, I guess, if this works.

* * *

Atropos returned to the cramped basement office filled with closed manila folder envelopes and saw Castiel put down a voice recorder on his desk, sighing deeply. He raised his eyes to her and smiled thinly.

"Has it been a half-an-hour already?", he rasped, making a point to look at the clock on the wall.

Atropos smiled and nodded. "Exactly, as a matter-of-fact. As I mentioned, we're kind of on a tight schedule." She frowned and looked around the office. "Did you get the Book?" she asked, voice literally shaking with concern.

Castiel leaned forward, considering her. "You're serious, aren't you? You're...you're really scared..."

Atropos let out a breath of exasperation. "Of course I'm scared! The more worlds we lose, the harder it is to stabilize reality and form. Chaos will reign. Does that sound pleasant to you? Not to mention, that every time that that _creature_ devours a world, a manifestation of me gets eaten along with it." Her whole body shuddered. "If you only knew how that feels when that happens a million or so times...you'd get a _inkling_ of how scared I am right now...so...Book? Or no Book?" She crossed her arms over her chest and bit her bottom lip nervously, her foot tapping rapidly on the floor. Castiel stared, then nodded.

"Allright. Let's play this out. You got me curious." He looked behind him at the blank wall. "Crowley?" He looked back at Atropos and smiled tightly. "OK, so, just in case you're playing a prank or something, don't say I didn't warn you."

"About what?"

"This," Castiel answered simply.

Out of the wall itself walked a man wearing a black, well tailored three-piece suit, jacket unbuttoned. He carried a briefcase in his hand and set it carefully on the desk in front of Castiel, nodded at him, then looked over to Atropos.

"This her?", he asked, still looking her in the eyes.

"Yep, this is her," Castiel answered in a murmur, watching Atropos carefully. He was a bit surprised.

She didn't seem fazed at all that a man had literally just walked out of a wall in front of her. Instead her eyes were fixed on the suitcase, a mix of surprise, expectation and hope.

"Huh," Castiel said, unlocking the briefcase and beginning to spin it towards Atropos. Crowley placed a restraining hand on his arm and Castiel looked up at him.

"Castiel, are you sure about this? She might just be a nutter, and this is a particularly nasty artifact..."

Castiel nodded, looking back at Atropos. "It's a risk. But there's...something there." Crowley removed his hand and Castiel slowly finished turning the briefcase around.

Atropos' eyes widened when she saw the Book.

"Oh thank Heavens," she muttered moving forward. She reached out for it, and saw Crowley flinch. Castiel stood up and tilted his head at her.

"Hey...careful...maybe...slow down there..." he said warningly, raisng his hand, palm out.

Atropos shot him a look of impatience and disdain and instead grabbed the Book.

There was a flash of pure, white light, and Castiel flinched back.

"What...what just happened?" Crowley gasped, leaning back against the wall.

"Did you...did you also _hear_ that...?", Castiel asked him, breathless. "It sounded like...like...inhuman..."

"Screaming," Atropos finished for him, letting out a breath of relief and placing the Book carefully back in the case. "That had to hurt it. Good." She smiled up at the two of them. "The Old One in question has an insatiable Hunger. Think Famine of the Four Horsemen – multiplied by infinity. I just took a meal away from it. It isn't happy." She frowned, considering something. "Say...you two wouldn't want to meet the rest, would you? I mean, you actually might be useful. You've been investigating and studying this stuff for ages now, and you..." she added, looking over directly at Crowley, "...you are _you_ ," she said vaguely. "That could come in handy."

Crowley looked confused. "Whom else would I be?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised," Atropos answered, rolling her eyes. "So, whatd'ya say?"

"I'm sorry, but _what_ are you talking about?" Castiel asked.

Atropos smiled. "I'll take that as a 'yes'."


	6. Back to Reality

**Back to Reality**

Agent Castiel Novak and Crowley materialized with Atropos in an almost bare, sparsely decorated room, the walls built out of corrugated metal. There was a table and a lamp, which flickered fitfully, and some charts on the wall, seemingly detailing a city, with several areas highlighted in red all around it. Castiel squinted at it, and recognized after a few seconds that he was looking at Los Angeles. He walked closer, trying to discern the meaning of the red areas, but there was no key.

"What is all of this?" he asked, not looking away from the map.

"The Resistance," Atropos replied, her voice flat, tired. Castiel turned at her and squinted.

"Are you OK?" he asked.

Atropos gave him a weary smile. "I haven't...been back here in awhile, from a perspective of time. It's somehow...nice. Despite the circumstances."

"And just how dire are those so-called circumstances?" Crowley asked, running a finger along the lone wooden table in the room, examining it for dust. He made a face and wiped it off on his trousers. "Is this really all that's left?"

Atropos shook her head. "No, but it isn't far from the truth," she admitted. "The Old Ones have destroyed most of Creation. We're doing everything we can to hold whatever's left together. Which is, sadly, not much."

"What happens next?", Agent Novak asked, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back against the wall.

Atropos shrugged. "We make our stand with what we've got. There's nothing else that we actually _can_ do. Make no mistake, we are close to going out here..." she broke off and stared at the wall, her face a mixture of sadness and fatigue. "Michael really screwed us good."

"Michael?" Castiel asked, brow furrowing.

Atropos sighed. "The Archangel," she replied, causing both Castiel and Crowley to raise their eyebrows in surprise. She smiled at them knowingly. "Yes, _the_ Archangel Michael. Or...at least he used to be. I don't know _what_ you could call him at the end." She trailed off again and looked at the floor. She took a deep breath before continuing. "He gathered almost all of the power of Creation to himself, and fled to his own domain, a paradise that he created. The Old Ones exploited that as an opportunity to strike a fatal blow, as Michael had effectively corned himself, leaving himself unprepared and isolated." She shrugged and looked up at the two of them. "They struck it. Michael's domain was destroyed, and the energy that he had stolen went along with it. It was a masterstroke from the Old Ones. They knew exactly where to hit us..."She frowned and looked away. "Still trying to figure out how they managed to figure that out," she added in a low mutter.

"You said 'us'...so, you were on Michael's side?", Agent Novak asked.

Atropos barked out a humorless laugh. "Better the devil that you know, I suppose, but in a way, yes, when one is speaking about Creation versus the absolute Void, then I suppose so. We were fighting Michael, to be sure, but as far as defeating the Old Ones...we shared that goal, in a perverse way." She stopped and bit her lip. "So, let's meet the others, shall we?"

"Can't wait..." Crowley grumbled. He bowed at the waist and held out his arm at the door for Castiel. "After you, dear."

"Cut it out, Crowley," Castiel grumbled in response. "In case you weren't paying attention right now, we're in deep shit."

"All the more reason for one to maintain a sense of humor," Crowley protested. "Besides, if one can't keep one's perspective..."

Atropos opened the door to the main warehouse, and Crowley promptly shut up.

It was brimming with activity, people talking in groups, discussing strategy heatedly, but that wasn't the part that made him clamp his mouth shut like a vise.

It was the fact that nearly all of the hundred or so individuals in the warehouse were various versions of Castiel and himself.

"This...can be a bit jarring at first..." Atropos said sheepishly. Crowley glared at her and instantly suspected that she was enjoying herself a bit too much for his liking.

"These are all... _us_..." Agent Novak muttered numbly.

"Yes, well, other versions of you, from parallel dimensions of Creation. I've pulled the most useful ones back here, the 'Creation Prime', if you want to call it that. They might be helpful."

"Atropos," Crowley stated dryly.

"Yes?"

"That version of Agent Novak is wearing tights."

Castiel followed Crowley's gaze and instantly flushed red.

"Oh...yeah...him...well...in his dimension, some fallen angels had taken on the role of super heroes...helping humanity and such..."

Crowley groaned. "A _little_ jarring..."

"You said 'Creation Prime', right?" Castiel asked, his voice still just over a whisper.

"Uh-huh."

"So, that means there's a...how do I put this...?"

"A 'real' version of you?"

Castiel looked at her and nodded, looking a little sick.

Atropos smiled warmly and patted him on the shoulder. "Yes and no. There is a version of you in this world, yes. But he is no more 'real' than any other version of you. The fact that this happens to be the nexus of Creation's energies at the moment is simply a matter of the state of the war."

Castiel nodded, looking a bit more relieved. "And...you said a lot of Creation's energy has been destroyed...is there any way of getting it back? Strengthening ourselves?"

"Oh, _good_ question," a voice from behind them said. They turned around to see a tall man with a white, immaculately tailored suit and smiling blue eyes walk up to them. "Finally, Atropos, you brought me a Castiel and Crowley that think ahead."

"Who are you?" Crowley asked, head tilted.

"Oh sorry, allow me to introduce myself," the tall man said, reaching out his hand, his smile brimming from ear-to-ear. Crowley looked down at his hand and then slowly shook it.

"I'm Lucifer," he continued, shaking Crowley's hand. Crowley pulled his hand back as if he had suddenly discovered that he was holding an electric eel.

"But...you're in Hell...banished...what...?" he sputtered, taking a few awkward steps back.

Lucifer shrugged.

"What side are we fighting for?! The Devil?! Where have you brought us?!" Castiel asked, wide eyed and panicked. He had drawn his sidearm and was watching Lucifer closely.

"Oh relax, it's not like you think..." Lucifer said, rolling his eyes. "I've seen the error of my ways, so to speak. I've defected. Joined up with the good guys. Go Creation, and all that."

"We captured him, his brother Michael went crazy and turned on him and Lucifer had nowhere else to go," Atropos said bluntly, looking Lucifer up and down. "And he's been an almost completely useless pain-in-the-ass ever since."

"Hey!" Lucifer said in mock aplomb, "I helped take down that giant tentacle Sky-Monster!"

"I said 'almost'", Atropos shrugged.

Castiel watched the exchange and relaxed a bit. "So...he's working for you, not the other way around." Lucifer raised his eyebrows and Atropos looked at him and snorted.

"Oh please, don't delude yourself," she smiled sarcastically at Lucifer before turning back to Agent Novak. "Yes, that's the deal. He provides expert advice..."

"As being the only multi-dimensional being present here that has fought the Old Ones..." Lucifer cut in.

Atropos sighed and closed her eyes in exasperation, trying to ignore him, "...and support when called for. In exchange, we don't imprison him."

"As if you could..."

Atropos shot him a withering look and Lucifer held up both of his hands in mock surrender. "Allright, allright, back off Cujo."

Agent Novak eyed the two of them, then nodded to himself and put his weapon away. Crowley still looked supremely unconvinced and was watching Lucifer carefully.

"So, you got an answer or what?" Castiel asked, looking at Lucifer sideways.

Lucifer turned directly to him and raised an eyebrow, looking Castiel up-and-down.

"Wow...human...cool, not even a hint of Angel Grace in him..." Lucifer muttered. He looked back to Atropos and smiled. "Just how far out there did you go, Atropos?"

Atropos smiled back tightly. "To the ends of Creation, Lucifer. We can't afford to leave any stone unturned."

"Um...what?" Castiel asked, confused. "Did you say...'angel grace'?"

"Never mind," Lucifer turned back, shaking his head, his beaming smile returning. Castiel visibly shuddered. "So, to answer your question – we don't know how to."

"Um... _what_?" Castiel repeated, his confusion growing.

Lucifer shrugged apologetically. "You asked if we can get the energy back somehow, and honestly, we don't know that yet. You are the first, however, to ask that very good question, so...kudos." He watched Castiel frown and continued. "You know the old theory that matter can't be created or destroyed?"

Castiel nodded.

"Well, that wacky Mikhail Lomonosov was the first person to truly 'touch the Hand of God' with that theory, so to say. He was right. It can, however, be defined, or, in this case, re-defined." He paused and looked around. "For instance, this gaggle of Castiel and Crowley's, they are all just atoms, arranged and defined in specific bonding actions. It could, with enough power, be re-defined as something else, like, say, turning your demon-friend Crowley there into a tortoise."

Castiel glanced over, and with alarm noticed that where Crowley had been standing, was now instead a very angry looking giant tortoise.

"Lucifer."

"Hm?"

"Please stop turning Crowley into a giant tortoise."

"Booooring..."Lucifer said, but then, almost instantly, Crowley was standing there again, his mouth hanging open in shock.

"It's that easy?"

Lucifer shook his head. "No, it's just that I'm incredibly powerful is all."

"And utterly full of himself," Atropos added quickly.

"Touche"

Castiel held up his hand. "OK, OK, fine, and this is what the Old Ones are doing? Re-defining the energy of Creation?"

"Yep."

"Into what?"

"Into themselves."

Castiel shook his head. "What does that mean?"

Lucifer's smile broadened mischievously. "Go and have a look outside."

"No, please don't do that..." Atropos broke in, slightly panicky.

Castiel looked towards the massive warehouse door and narrowed his eyes. "Why not?"

"Yeah, Atropos, why not?" Lucifer asked. Atropos shot him a look. "What?" he shrugged. "You brought them into this. Why not show them what you've got them into."

Atropos eyed him and then looked over at Agent Novak. She looked away. "If you must. Just...make sure you shut the door after you've had a look. Quickly, please."

Castiel looked at Crowley who held up his hands. "Don't look at me. I am dealing with getting over a ferocious craving for lettuce."

Castiel rolled his eyes and walked slowly over to the main doors through the crowd. He deliberately looked straight ahead, not wanting to examine that particular group more closely, especially considering a lot of them were...him.

A couple of guards saw him approaching and immediately began fiddling with their automatic weapons, looking nervous. Castiel put on his best disarming smile and held up his hands. "S'Ok, fellas, just a quick peek. Your boss back there said it's fine."

They exchanged a glance with each other before one of them spoke up.

"Uh, mister, you sure you wanna do this? It's pretty...um...crazy out there. And if one of them gets in here...we're the ones that's gotta deal with it."

Castiel smiled. "Guys, it looks to me like you got plenty of back-up here."

The guard shook his head vigorously. "No, that's not what I meant. I meant 'deal with it', as in what happened to the _last_ two door guards when something came bustin' in here...it went for them _first_...you know what I mean?"

Agent Novak's smile dropped and he nodded. He took out his gun again and looked at them.

"Take a step back, then. I'll be the point man, allright?"

"Fine by me..." the guard hurriedly answered, as him and his partner got a good ten-feet behind Castiel and raised their weapons, sweat breaking out on their brows.

Castiel nodded at them and took a deep breath. He grasped the lever on the warehouse door and slowly put his ear against the cool metal, listening to see if anything might be moving around outside of it.

He heard the soft sound of shuffling, and a moaning, as if there was something on the wind. He frowned and glanced back at the guards, who were staring intensely at the door, fingers and postures tense.

He yanked the lever up and slid the door a few inches open.

He peeked his eyes around the edge of the thick metal door, and immediately wished he hadn't.

The sky was rolling black, contrasted against an even impossibly deeper black. Thick gouts and swirling columns of inky, black smoke rose into a starless sky. Castiel's eyes tracked upwards. Some of the skyscraper sized columns seemed to be….walking, moving across the land. He realized in horror that they were some kind of horrific beings...covered in uneven, misshapen, tortured limbs, their faces and massive heads masks directly out of ancient nightmares. In a panic, he dropped his gaze quickly and scanned the ground right outside of the door, and saw several hundred 'smaller' - but still the size of large bulls - darker, oily shapes swarming around on the ground, howling, ripping at the earth itself with massive, cruel claws...one of them turned it's malicious gaze towards him...

"That's enough, c'mon man, close the door!" one of the guards behind him screamed, breaking Castiel out of a daze. His suddenly sweaty hand slammed the door shut as fast as he could, twisting the handle back into the locked position, just as the creature outside had rushed towards him. There was a heavy impact on the door, and a flash of light that made Castiel jump instinctively back. He looked the door up and down as the monster outside screamed in horrific agony, it's cry being taken up by several of it's comrades, the sound like a thousand nails being ripped across a chalkboard. Practically everyone in the warehouse was now staring in fear at the closed door.

"The door is warded," Lucifer said from behind him. Agent Novak, breathing heavily now, turned to face him. "It's the only thing left keeping them out." He moved closer and put his hand on Castiel's shoulder, meeting his eyes. "Did you see them?"

Castiel, still breathless, managed to sputter out a weak 'yes', nodding his head rapidly. "Did...they used the energy of Creation to manifest themselves into...what's out there...is that what you're telling me?"

"Exactly," Lucifer answered, smiling sadly. "So yes, getting them to surrender that energy, or figuring out how to re-define it, would take...some doing, I'm afraid."

Castiel caught his breath and looked back at the closed door before turning back to Lucifer. "And...you brought us here...to fight _that_!?" he asked, incredulous.

Lucifer's smile broke out wide on his face again. "Welcome to the Resistance."


	7. The Pattern

**The Pattern**

The Being raised it's head, black rivulets of a foul, unknown substance flowing off of it's multiple pincers and waving hairs of its hideous face. It opened it's mouth to roar. The sound it made was, fortunately, drowned out by the constant lightning strikes raining down around it and it's brethren around the base of Mount Olympus.

It's black, shadowed eyes reflected the bursts of light as it cast it's gaze around, a wicked, calculating intelligence showing as it sprang forward, timing it's bounds to avoid the attack by the searing bolts.

It raced forward, clambered onto a rocky outcrop, then hissed in fury at one of the mountain's defenders as he came screaming down the hill, spear poised to strike.

The Being deftly darted to the side, quick as flowing water, it's movements also oddly graceful. It pierced the soldier through his bronze plate mail in the back with several dozen of it's razor-sharp appendages, and, in the same movement, flung him bodily into his partner, who had sprung up from the side of a hidden crevice, hoping to take the Being from the side.

The soldier was knocked completely off of his feet, and the Being sprang, ripping him into bloody ribbons in an eyeblink.

The blood rolled off of it as it bounded back forward up the path, seeking more life to extinguish. It made a low, guttural sound in it's throat, almost like laughter, rhythmic, pulsing and throaty. It glanced to it's sides and saw that most of it's companions had also met with similar success.

The war was ending. The defenders of Mount Olympus were wearing, their numbers dwindling, while the army of the Old Ones was growing stronger with each passing hour. It was only a matter of time.

It came around a corner near the summit, the rocky surface giving way to blood-stained marble paths and shattered columns – artifacts of months of fighting here. It slowed as one of the so-called 'Gods' of Olympus stepped into it's path. He wore a simple tunic under a breastplate, laced leather-strap sandal boots and held a bronze, gore stained sword in his hand. His helm was a silver steel mask covering his entire face, a gruesome smile featured on it.

The Being crouched low and sprang. The little God moved swiftly out of the way and scored a blow on the Being's back. The steel stung and burned as it ripped away some of it's scales. Faster than the God could turn, however, the Being, ignoring the wound, sprang at his back, clamping down with it's multiple arms all around him, digging it's talons into his flesh. It reared it's head back, intending to rip at the back of the God's neck.

It felt a momentary confusion as he saw the God staring back at him from behind...then realized that it was only the back-side of the mask, but instead of a smile, the back of the mask was carved into a face in agony and sadness, a single tear standing out in the design. It recovered and began ripping at the God, trying to find a soft spot. It heard him grunt in pain and felt him shift his weight.

"Janus!" came a cry from above, and the Being twisted, avoiding a black-shafted arrow that was aimed at it's head. It clattered to the ground, sending up sparks into the gray air.

"I'm fine," the God shouted from beneath the Being. He braced his legs and ripped the Being forward, sending it tumbling end-over-end into a marble column. It cracked under the impact and sent chunks of stone flying. The Being scrambled to it's feet, turning to face this 'Janus' once more. It noted with a dark satisfaction the deep cuts and wounds in the God's legs and sides as it roared it's defiance.

"You're a nasty one, aren't you?" Janus said, almost quietly. He titled his head as he approached. "Do you have a Name?"

The Being hesitated. It narrowed it's black eyes at the little God, trying to peer through the silver mask. It's limbs lashed and snapped in the air all around it, coiling and ripping in warning.

Janus stopped, and reached up to slowly remove the mask.

The Being froze.

There was so much... _Light_...coming from that face...it felt it like a weight pressing down on it, keeping it from moving.

"You don't have a Name, do you?" Janus whispered, moving closer. "Impressive that even the foot soldiers are becoming as powerful as you are." He stopped and shook his head. "The Darkness grows." He looked up sharply and plunged his sword in one flowing motion into the Being's chest.

The Being felt the blow, and a hideous, burning warmth in it – a warmth that had nothing to do with the steel of that blade. It was the warmth of Life, of Order.

Of the Lightbringer.

It spat at the fake God as it died, it's hatred filling it. Janus let the Being's weight pull it off of his blade, then stumbled back and went to a knee.

He wearily turned his head from side-to-side, scanning the battle all around him. He saw the Gods of Olympus fighting valiantly, but being driven further and further back. He lowered his gaze and took a deep, steadying breath.

His strength had been returning to him, this much was for certain, but the constant battle was making it slow work. Too slow.

He had been wondering if Olympus could hold out long enough for him to recover his powers fully, but it now seemed unlikely.

And if he had read what Atropos had been up to recently correctly, he was running out of places to hide.

* * *

Apollo dispatched the last of the wave of invaders, impaling it as it charged forward onto his golden spear. His boot scraped against the marble floor as he braced himself against it's weight, gritting his teeth in effort holding it back as it still kept lashing at him, seeking to reach his throat. When his foot stopped sliding, and the creature's movements finally ceased, he let the spear fall to the ground, taking the abomination with it. He breathed heavily and looked back over his shoulder.

The gate to the Temple of Zeus loomed high over his head. His eyes widened in fear and shock. This was further, much, much further, than the invaders had reached before. Soon there would be nowhere left to retreat.

He walked numbly forward, scanning the battlefield in the tiers below him.

The Darkness ran up the sides of the mountain like a fungus, staining and ruining the gorgeous vista all the way to the mountain's base. He saw Gods and men struggling to their feet, helping their companions, glancing nervously at the pitch-black, swirling, impenetrable cloud surrounding that aforementioned mountain base where the legions of creatures had been attacking from in waves for over a month.

Apollo knew what they were thinking as they stared into that blackness, as he was thinking the same thing.

Their end was soon.

The next attack would shatter the last remnants of their defenses.

He nodded to himself and turned back towards the Temple, trudging inside. The Gods would regroup here, in theory to plan their next moves and strategy, but he had been in enough wars to know that there was no solid strategy left to plan.

He walked in past the injured and disabled soldiers and glanced cursorily at the throne, where Zeus leaned heavily into his seat, head in hand. Apollo slowed and turned away, heading towards the reflecting pool, the one that doubled as a way to watch the land of the mortals, the realm of Earth.

What he saw there was hardly encouraging.

Most of it was gone, or, more precisely, swallowed up in that same taint that had almost devoured Olympus. Only one bright point of light remained, a tiny, secluded warehouse on the outskirts of Los Angeles. He knew that there was where the Resistance labored. He looked at the swirling masses of destruction surrounding it, and felt the last of his hopes fade away.

It was over. The Darkness had won.

"There is a famous saying there," came a voice over his shoulder. Apollo glanced back and saw that it was Janus, looking just as weary on the surface as everyone else, but strangely, he still had a willful fire in his eyes.

"They used to have a lot of sayings," Apollo sighed. He shook his head and looked back at Janus, who was watching him expectantly, a tight-lipped but strangely contagious smile on his face. Apollo returned the smile. "What was it?" he asked in concession.

"'It is always darkest before the dawn'," Janus replied. "It didn't come from a religious text, or a poet, rather, it was written by a historian, which, in our case, seems apropos."

"How's that?" Apollo asked, frowning.

"Well, before that whole 'Let There Be Light' stuff, what do you think the Universe looked like?"

Apollo watched him closely, eyes narrowing. "I'm assuming that you're going to tell me that it resembled _that_ ," he replied softly, eyes flicking towards the base of the mountain.

Janus nodded. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I was."

Apollo stepped away from the pool and his hand went to the pommel of his sword, his eyes narrowing further in scrutiny. "Who are you?", he hissed. "Oh, you are the spitting image of Two-Headed Janus, to be certain, but I have heard things over the last weeks, things from my brother Ares as well, that give me reason to doubt...and now you claim knowledge of events that Janus would never be privy...so I ask again, _impostor_ , who are you?!"

Janus shrugged and turned away. "No reason to keep up appearances here anymore, I suppose. Isn't that right?", he asked, casting his question louder in the direction of a person standing in the shadows of a column near the edge of the Temple.

The figure stepped out around into the light and Apollo hesitated, recognizing her.

"Atropos? What are you doing here?"

She shrugged, stepping closer, looking away from Apollo to fix her eyes on 'Janus'.

"It's time. I've done everything I can, and the boss here needs to come back to the office."

Apollo looked over at Janus, his head snapping back. "Boss?"

Atropos nodded. "Mm-hm. Boss. God. Judah. Whatever." She tilted her head and put a hand on her hip. "So, what's the word, big man? Break over?"

'Janus' smiled and shook his head. As he did so, his features changed, his skin tone altering, his hair as well. Apollo gaped, because while he had seen his fair share of imitations and even transformations in his time, he had never seen one that was so easily accomplished, nor so deep and _complete_.

"Atropos, I've seen what you've been doing...and...well, not to be too critical, but you know how useless it all is, don't you?"

She frowned and crossed her arms over her chest. "At least we're doing _something_...not sitting around waiting to die, _Judah_."

"Oh, make no mistake, this isn't death," he answered, waving his arm around him in an encompassing arc. "This is annihilation. There will be no after-life or gentle transition from this. No Reaper or condescending manifestation of Death. They end Life. They consume it."

"And you're going to do _nothing_?"

He smiled. "I _was_ trying to recover my strength, set us back on a manageable path." He shook his head. "The Old Ones and Cartaphilus took care of that when they destroyed Michael. Do you have any idea how much of Creation they destroyed when that happened? How much raw Life energy?"

"I have a pretty good idea," Atropos answered. "I've been out there trying to pick up the pieces of what's left."

Judah smiled humorously and closed his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief. "See? That's my entire point, Atropos. You're trying to re-create the infinite with finite parts. It's a waste of time."

"I never said that I was trying to recreate it," she shot back. "That's _your_ job, remember? Or it was until you got on this Apocalypse kick."

"It's hardly a 'kick'," Judah growled. "And have a care, Fate, remember who you're talking to."

"A spoiled brat throwing a tantrum?" Atropos replied angrily. "And don't go getting all uppity on me, _Boss_ , " she cut him off as he opened his mouth to protest. "You are the one that elevated my Sisters and I to be the guardians of time and consequence, just as you appointed Death to watch over mortality. You _defined_ us, and until such time as all of this does get annihilated, we are just as important to maintaining reality as you ever were." She glared, letting that sink in before continuing. "So, since I'm pretty sure that the 'Biblical' Apocalypse option is off the table now, and we're simply all fighting to take another breath, I have to ask - why are you still in that form?"

Judah smiled. "Who said anything about it being off the table?" He watched as Atropos frowned in confusion. He held up a hand to silence her. "You have your plan, I have mine. I think that is all that you are going - and are entitled to – know."

Atropos stepped defiantly forward. " _What_ plan?"

" _Mine_ , Fate," Judah growled. "You have no idea what my ways are, nor what I must do to create or destroy. You must only believe that I have a plan. Now, go try to see what good _your_ plan does in the meantime."

"Without you," Atropos asked in a whisper, her voice quivering.

"Without me."

Atropos cast her eyes to the ground, her fists balling at her sides. "You are the _Creator_ , Judah...how are we supposed to re-weave the pattern without you guiding it...?"

Judah turned away and walked off, looking over his shoulder as he left.

"Who said anything about the pattern being re-woven?"

With that, he vanished.

Atropos watched the place where he had disappeared for a long time. She noticed Apollo standing next to her and she shook her head.

"And people wonder why so many turn away from religion..."she grunted. She looked up at Apollo and nodded angrily. "Fine. We do it without him." She turned sharply on her heel and walked over to a glowing portal. She glanced back and looked Apollo up and down. "You Greeks coming or what?"

Apollo leaned back and looked around, shaking his head to break himself out of his thought after witnessing the exchange between God and his Fate. He saw that most of the Pantheon of Gods were also there and had been watching as well.

"We're coming," A deep voice came from the throne room as Zeus stepped out. "There is nothing left for us here."

Atropos nodded and looked away. "For what it's worth...I'm sorry."

Zeus shrugged. "Why? It was a valiant fight. And from what I just heard, it is not the last one we are going to have." He looked around the Temple. "Which is more than I can say for Olympus." He focused back on Atropos. "We fight."

Atropos smiled back at him. "Well, that's more than I can say for some deities. Thank you. Let's get going."

* * *

When the summit of Olympus was reached, the Old Ones and their soldiers encountered no resistance. A figure strode through the swirling shadows, resolving itself into the semblance of a large, well-muscled man, wearing a red cloak, with a scabbard on his hip. The Gladius was drawn and held casually in his right hand.

He stopped in the middle of the Temple and turned slowly in a circle.

He sniffed the air and grimaced as a smell reached his nostrils.

"Judah," he whispered in hate and disgust. He whipped his head around, then sighed.

 _Gone_.

"Run all you want," he hissed into the empty Temple. "Soon, there will be nowhere left for you to hide from me."

He strode to Zeus' throne, and tilted his head, considering it. He turned away, then, with a snarl, he spun back around, his Gladius swinging high over his head.

It hit the golden throne and split it in half with a sound reminiscent of thunder.

The two smoking halves toppled to the floor, dark, scorching marks all along the seam where the sword had split it. The blackness spread out over the throne, covering it, the golden structure crumbling to ash in seconds.

Cartaphilus watched it disintegrate and wilt away then turned away in contempt. The voices of the Old Ones - the Outer Gods – whispered in his head, a contact dialogue that had been with him since he had struck his pact with them. The hungered, and grew impatient.

They wanted to feed. They wanted to consume the Lightbringer. And while time meant little to them, they did know hunger, and the promise of a meal.

Cartaphilus smiled.

 _Soon_. _Soon_.


	8. Missing in Action

**Missing in Action**

"Strange."

Lucifer stood in the corner of the warehouse room at Resistance HQ, leaning casually against the wall, staring at the figure in the middle of the unfurnished room floating five feet off of the ground, sitting cross-legged with his eyes closed.

Leon, a few feet away, sitting on the floor with Kinsey and David, also watching the floating figure, looked back at him with a look of disbelief on his face.

"'Strange'...you don't say?" he asked rhetorically, his eyebrows raising as he looked back at his friend Jesse. "I guess where you come from people float around all the time, huh?"

Lucifer smiled patronizingly. "You miss my greater meeting, ex-Herald of mine."

Leon frowned in obvious disgust. "Would you quit mentioning that every five minutes, please?"

Lucifer shrugged, smiling guiltily. Jesse rolled his eyes. Every move or sentence that Lucifer made was a mockery, a soured sarcasm of the true meaning of the gesture or words he spoke – and, quite frankly, Leon was getting sick of it. He huffed and turned away, muttering – mostly to himself.

"Fine, be that way."

"Oh, Leon, you wound me..." Lucifer prodded further. His gaze flicked away as someone came into the room, trying to be quiet. Lucifer groaned. "Oh...great..."

"Nice to see you too, brother," Gabriel replied. Castiel was next to him, and wasn't bothering to hide his distaste at Lucifer's visage.

"What? You had no problem whatsoever when I was a rotting, half-corpse in a blonde man's vessel."

Castiel bristled and stared at him, his eyes full of pure hatred.

"Sam was my friend."

Lucifer stared back, eyes glinting. "Bad idea for people like us to make friends with mortals, Castiel. Truly horrible things can happen to them."

"So was Dean," Castiel continued, unperturbed.

Lucifer let out a breath. "Yeah, sorry, can't do much about that one...hey, if it cheers you up - Sam's still here you know."

Castiel narrowed his eyes and involuntarily took in a breath, leaning back as if struck. "He...his vessel is still viable? He's still alive in there?"

Lucifer nodded, grinning like a cat. "I'd let you say 'hi' and all...buuuuuut, I'm not gonna let you."

"What a bag of dicks," Gabriel muttered.

"Oh, come up with something original for a change, Gabe – heard that one before," Lucifer said, rolling his head in exaggerated exasperation.

"OK, you're a bag of rotten dicks."

Lucifer tapped his chin with his finger. "Weeeelllll, better, but still lacking that spark of originality".

"Unbelievable," Kinsey muttered from the floor, shaking her head.

"You got something better?" Lucifer taunted.

"Oh, no thanks," she answered.

"Well, something is obviously on your mind...care to share with the rest of the class?"

Kinsey turned her head around and looked Lucifer up and down.

"It is hard to fathom that you and Gabriel are two of the most powerful beings in the entire universe. I am sitting here listening to a couple of bickering, immature, petulant and whiny children, and realizing that it is no great mystery as to how the universe ended up in the mess that it is in now." She glared at him a moment or two longer, flicked her eyes to Gabriel, nodded to herself, and turned back around.

Lucifer turned to Gabriel and jerked a thumb in her direction. "She's got you on that one..."

"I seem to recall you being part of that analysis also," Gabriel shot back.

Lucifer rolled his eyes. "I meant in terms of coming up with an original insult...that one actually stung a bit..."

"What did you mean by 'strange'?," Castiel cut in. "We heard you say it when we were coming in here."

Lucifer indicated his head in Jesse's direction. "Him...something's off."

Gabriel looked over and squinted. "He's still channeling Angelic energy right? Because...that would be very, very bad if he isn't …."

Lucifer nodded. "He is. Just not as much of it as I expected."

Castiel moved closer to Jesse and looked over his shoulder back to Lucifer.

"Explain."

Lucifer smiled. "No 'please'?"

Castiel turned and glared at him. Lucifer held up his hands, palms up. "OK, ok, tough guy! Just funnin'..." He rubbed his chin. "No, I mean, when New Eden was destroyed, it not only took Michael with it, it also killed Sarah, Jones, Trevor, Angela, Robert and Milo...our new Archangels."

Gabriel frowned. "Aren't you missing one...what was it...Sneezy, Doc, Grumpy...?"

Lucifer's smile widened, but his face remained tense. "Stephen. And we decided to...move on from our arrangements with Stephen."

"'Move on'...?"

Castiel grimaced. "He means dead. He means that they killed him." He turned back to Jesse and sighed. "He was just an innocent child. But what should we have expected from you two?"

"Oh, look at who knows so much," Lucifer snorted. When Castiel glanced back at him, Lucifer lowered his gaze. "Believe you me, sonny boy, if you knew the stuff about Stephen that we knew about Stephen..."

Castiel rounded on him and stalked over to stand right in his face. "What? That we'd have killed him as well? Is that what you're suggesting?"

"Group hugs and a round of Kumbaya weren't going to cut it with that one, Castiel, believe me."

Castiel, visually upset, scanned Lucifer's face, then turned away in disgust. "So he was a mixed up kid."

"More than. He killed people, Castiel. Cold-hearted. Ruthless." Lucifer shrugged. "Actually, now that I say it out loud, I kind of maybe should have been able to work with him, huh?"

Castiel's shoulders sagged. "He killed people."

"Yep."

"And he was mixed up and cold hearted."

"Bonus points for Castiel."

Castiel turned back around, his face a mixture of anger and sadness. "You still don't get it, do you?"

Lucifer looked confused. "Get what? I did the universe a favor, Castiel. That kid was a walking horror film..."

Castiel shook and bowed his head, chuckling humorously. "And instead of helping him, or trying to reach out, you gave him powers. Godlike, angelic powers." He stared back up at Lucifer. "And then what? Did you instruct him on how to use them, Lucifer? Did you observe him under controlled conditions? Or did all Michael and you do was to turn him loose on an unsuspecting population?" The room went deathly still as everyone watched the exchange. Lucifer raised his eyebrows in comprehension, Castiel's point sinking in. Castiel took a step closer. "Make no mistake, Lucifer, _you_ killed those people, every bit as much as Stephen did. You gave impossible power to a confused kid, that you _couldn't have cared two damns about_. So long as he fulfilled you and Michael's purpose, you couldn't have cared less about the person in there, or actually trying to reach him." He threw up his hands in surrender. "But what should we have expected? Lucifer...you have been, and always were...selfish, short-sighted, and only concerned with your own inflated ego. And people die all the time because of that. And you...you _never_ learn. All you do is blame them."

Lucifer watched him, his glare cold.

"So spare me. You didn't do the right thing. You put down a rabid dog that you infected yourself. So just...spare me." He looked back at Jesse. "So, if it's not too much trouble for you to get to the damned point, what is wrong with Jesse's power?"

Lucifer continued to simply glare at Castiel. Finally, he cleared his throat and looked away.

"There's not enough of it. He should have absorbed the power that they took from him as soon as they died...and it's simply _not there_ is all," he mumbled. With that, he turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.

Gabriel let out a low whistle. "Wow. I mean..."

"Don't you start too."

"No, no," Gabriel said, holding up his hands. "You didn't miss a beat, bucko. But I haven't heard old Lucy there take a tongue lashing like that since Dad did it all those so many years ago."

Castiel considered that and nodded. "Someone needs to tell him. He's been walking around here like he's the king of the coop, and I'm sick of him thinking that he's just going to get off scott-free...thinking that we should be _grateful_ that he's here or something. That makes me feel sick. Every time another disaster happens to this world, I can't help but keep thinking that he was a big part of the reason it did. But he takes no responsibility for it. No blame." He shook his head. "I won't let him forget, Gabriel. Ever."

Gabriel nodded. "I don't disagree with you on any specific point there, little brother."

Castiel nodded in return. "Thank you." He looked back up at Jesse. "So, if he's right..."

"Probably wasn't lying..." Gabriel cut in, then twisted his lip, considering. "About _that_ , anyway..."

Castiel shrugged. "What does it mean? Could the others...could they have survived that?"

Gabriel shrugged as well. "Might have. Or the Old Ones just absorbed their energy. Or ate it...whatever it is that those guys do." He shivered. "I'll tell you, Cas, I don't particularly want to go out like that...make sure I don't get ate, ok?"

Castiel frowned. "Eaten."

Gabriel smiled. "I know. I like Firefly is all."

"Series from Joss Whedon, circa 2000. Canceled too soon."

"Bingo. Wow, that tv and movie trivia thing that Metatron did for you is pretty damned impressive."

Castiel grimaced. "Thank you. If you ever figure out a way to undo it, I would very appreciative."

Gabriel frowned. "Whatd'ya mean? That's a totally cool ability to have."

Castiel shook his head. "Do you have any idea how much bad soap opera trivia there is?" Gabriel stared, then looked slightly horrified. Castiel nodded in response. "Exactly. Seventy years of 'Days of Our Lives'...there are mornings that I don't want to ever get up again." He rubbed his chin, thinking. "We need to know if they did survive. It's important. If there was any way out of there..."

Gabriel's eyes widened in comprehension. "Ah-so...you're thinking that if anyone made it out...then maybe Dean-o did also?" He shook his head. "Cas, Michael was definitely destroyed. That's the reason the whole damned Universe broke apart."

Castiel looked away from Jesse and back to Gabriel. "You heard him. Sam is still alive in there. When all of this is over...I'd..." He looked away. "...I don't want to be the one to tell him that Dean didn't make it, Gabriel. Do you understand? I have to know for certain."

Gabriel nodded. "I gotcha, pal." He walked over to the door. "Let's go see the witch, then."

* * *

Rowena was bent over the Book of the Damned with two of the Fates, Lachesis and Clotho. They were gripping the Book tightly on three sides, and the text on the page they had it open to was glowing. Castiel looked closely. It was odd...the glowing letters didn't appear to be written on paper at all, rather on a sheet of pure darkness. As he watched, the glowing letters swirled and spiraled in that black, some of them disappearing, some of them coalescing into actual words.

"There's one..." Rowena said breathlessly. "Has Atropos been there yet?"

Clotho grimaced. "Yes. Dead end."

"Damn," Rowena frowned, muttering in frustration. "Ladies, it's seeming to me that we haven't been finding _anything_ viable lately...how long has it been since the last one?"

"Too long," Lachesis answered, removing her hands. "We need to stop. I sincerely think that we're not going to find any more."

Rowena sighed and let go as well. The darkness faded from the pages, along with the glowing letters, and reverted to normal, calligraphic, hand-written script. She noticed Gabriel and Castiel standing there and smiled weakly. "Hello lads. Come for some company?"

"Not a casual visit, ladies," Gabriel winked. "Sorry to say."

"Well, we're exhausted, 'sorry to say'..." Rowena said, bending over, hands on hips. "Can't do any heavy lifting for awhile."

"We need a location spell," Castiel answered. "Can you manage that?"

Rowena nodded and bit her lip. "Barely." She frowned, considering. "Who will you wanting to be locating, then? I mean, I don't know if you've noticed the state of things around here lately, but I don't think a search is going to take very long, all things considered...not too many places left to be hiding..."

Castiel smiled grimly. "I need to know if anyone made it out of New Eden alive."

Rowena's frown deepened. "New...Eden? Castiel..."

Castiel held up a hand. "I know, Rowena, believe me, just please know that I wouldn't ask this of you if I thought it was a waste of time. Some new information has come to our attention - information that could mean that there actually were survivors."

Rowena looked doubtful. "What new information? From where?"

"We'll tell you later. For now, it's actually probably better if you didn't know," Gabriel grunted. "So, whatd'ya say? Can you pull it off?"

Rowena watched them both curiously for a moment, then shrugged. "Shouldn't be difficult. That entire section of the Universe is Old Ones Central right now." Her face turned serious. "Which complicates the matters of any survivors being _still_ alive, you understand."

Castiel nodded. "I know. But it's...very important. Can you let us know when it's done?"

Rowena nodded and watched them go. She crossed her arms and looked over at Lachsis, the 'older' of the two Fates. She knew that it was only in outer appearance that way. They had all three, for all practical purposes, been created at the same time.

"Any chance the boys are right about that?"

Lachesis raised an eyebrow. "While it is true that I determine when a life is severed, this is not information that I normally share with mortals...no matter what the circumstances are."

Rowena smiled pleasantly. "Dear woman, I am tired. You are tired. There is little less for any of us to do right now except for a last, desperate stand, I would presume. My point is this: isn't it maybe a bit late to worry about bending the rules?"

Lachesis looked at her and finally smiled knowingly. She shut her eyes and appeared to be deep in concentration. "Interesting..."

Rowena tilted her head. "'Interesting' how?"

Lachesis opened her eyes and sighed. "I know that these are desperate times, witch, but there are simply some things I cannot divulge..."

"Just tell me if I would be wasting my time or not!" Rowena shot back, throwing her hands in the air. "Otherwise, I'm going straight to my bunk to take a bloody nap!"

Lachesis glanced at Clotho, who shook her head slightly. Lachesis sighed again and bowed her head. "I...I don't think your energies would be best spent sleeping dear," she said, smily slightly.

"Sister...!" Clotho shouted, shocked.

"What, sister?" Lachesis challenged. "I gave her no specific information. Just a suggestion as to how to spend her off-hours."

Clotho turned beet red, sputtering.

"Oh, lighten up, sister," Lachesis muttered, walking out of the room. "It's not like I actually told her that there were threads of life out there..." She turned slightly to Rowena on her way out.

And winked.

* * *

Dean Winchester opened his eyes groggily and rubbed at them. He cursed as he felt how dry and raw they were.

"Master?" a voice said somewhere near him.

He blinked around him, the shapes dark and blurry. One of them close to him, leaning over, resolved itself into the face of a bruised and bloody teenager.

"He's awake! He's awake! We did it!" the teen cried excitedly. The other three figures quickly circled around Dean. He looked around, still groggy.

Fire and darkness swirled in the air all around him. The teens were all tattered and looked like hell. They carried glowing swords, a dark substance like black blood dripping off of them, staining their clothes as well.

"Master, we teleported out of there when we saw that you were being attacked. You've been knocked out for...days, I think...it's hard to tell time around here..."

"Where...where am I, exactly...?" Dean muttered, trying to sit up and immediately regretted it. He leaned forward into a sitting position and placed his head between his knees with a groan.

"We're not sure, Master..." the teen replied, frowning. "We don't have the power to get away from the creatures...and we keep getting attacked...but with _you_ back..." The teen looked at him hopefully.

 _Great,_ Dean thought. _They still think I'm frikkin' Michael. Sorry kids, but Michael has left the building._

"Not yet," he managed to grumble, looking up at them. "I need to...recover my power." He looked all around them in every direction, squinting into the hellish air. He raised his eyebrows. "Shelter?"

The teen looked confused, then began nodding vigorously. "Yeah...uh...yes, Master. There's a cave...but we were afraid to move you...we've been taking turns resting there...it's easier to defend with just the one entrance..."

Dean held up a hand and nodded, wincing, his head splitting in pain. "OK, ok, calm down junior," he said. "Just...let's get into that cave, ok?"

The teen nodded and helped Dean up. "Then what, Master?"

 _I'd love to know the answer to that myself, pal_ , Dean thought.


	9. Fulcrum

**Fulcrum**

"Castiel."

Castiel looked up from his bunk at the doorway to his room. He had been sitting on the edge of it, head in hands, lost in thought. He hadn't even noticed his visitor's approach.

He looked up and saw Rowena. She had her hands clasped before her and a small smile on her exhausted face. He noticed that smile and immediately sat up, a feeling of...hope washing over him...such a strange and foreign feeling...he wondered when was the last time that he had felt that? "There were survivors from New Eden, Castiel. More importantly, Dean Winchester was one of them."

Castiel blinked dumbly, rising off of his bed slowly, hardly believing what he was hearing.

"Dean..." he croaked hoarsely, then frowned, shaking his head slowly. "But...how?" His eyes widened in fear as he looked at the floor, then up at Rowena. "Michael...?"

Rowena moved her hands up and hugged herself while shaking her head. "No. No Michael. Dean. And four of the Heralds as well."

Castiel stared, and swallowed hard. "But...how...?" he whispered once again.

Rowena smiled wanly. "I canna say, actually. It just is so. There are some thousands of human survivors as well out there, a very, very small fraction of the ones that went there in the first place...Castiel...", she continued, her face turning harsher, ""...they are dying out there."

Castiel watched her for a few seconds, then nodded decisively. "Rescue party. We need to form a rescue party. Get those people out of there. Now." He strode to the door and stopped short, taking a deep breath as he realized something. "I just recalled...can we even get there? That place was protected from intruders...even it's location was a secret,"

Rowena smiled widely. "Not anymore, it appears. Whatever forces Michael employed to keep it safe were disabled as soon as he was defeated."

Castiel nodded and headed out of the door. He stopped halfway through, his back stiffening. "Whatever measure _Michael_ created?" he asked, turning his head slightly back towards Rowena.

She frowned, puzzled. "Yes, I believe so."

Castiel turned the rest of the way around, his face pale. "Lucifer wasn't helping to shield New Eden?"

Rowena tilted her head. "I...I haven't thought of that, Castiel...I thought..." her eyes widened as she began to consider Castiel's question. "Oh...oh dear..."

Castiel nodded. "Exactly. Rowena. We've been trying to figure out how the Old Ones were able to locate and attack New Eden in the first place. This is important - did we try to locate or get there just after Lucifer and Michael broke off their alliance?"

Rowena's eyes widened further as she shook her head slowly. "We were...too busy fighting the Old One destroying Los Angeles. We never gave it a second thought."

Castiel frowned deeply, his brow furrowing in anger. "And Lucifer never even bothered to think about it...or conveniently 'forgot' to mention it to us...that he was protecting New Eden as well..." He hung his head and put his hand against the door frame for support. "All of those people..." He looked up at Rowena, suddenly looking very tired. "You said there were a few thousand survivors?" Rowena looked at the floor and then away, nodding slowly and hugging herself tighter.

"Rowena..."

"Castiel, dont ask me what you are about to ask me..."

"Rowena...how many people were at New Eden when it was destroyed? How many people did Lucifer leave open for that attack?"

A tear ran down Rowena's cheek. "Oh, Castiel..."

"How many?" Castiel growled, his visage turning hateful and angry.

Rowena looked back up at him and set her jaw firmly. "Castiel, don't be going to do anything too rash. He is _still_ Lucifer, and he is still more powerful than you..."

"HOW MANY?!" Castiel roared. "How many people did Lucifer ignore and let die?!"

Rowena cleared her throat and looked away again. She shrugged. " A few...um...billion...I would guess..."

Castiel stared. His fist tightened on the door frame. He ripped his hand away, and half of it splintered in his fist. Rowena jumped, startled.

" _Castiel_...!"

" _No_ , Rowena! He has to be held accountable!" He stalked off down the hall, then turned back to her, his eyes glowing with Angelic fire. She flinched away. "All those people..." he hissed, before turning back and running down the hallway.

"Castiel..." Rowena whispered, watching him go. "...be careful..."

* * *

Lucifer was standing in the main hanger of the Resistance, off to his own near a corner, considering a group of survivors that Atropos had brought back, his posture slumped, his face sullen. He noticed the group look up, alarmed, staring at something over his shoulder.

He turned to see what was going on, and saw Castiel walking swiftly towards him, murder in his eyes.

"What is it now, little brother? Did you find something new that you wish to berate me on?"

" _You could say that_..." Castiel growled lowly as he closed the distance.

Castiel's fist flew out, covered in glowing Angel Grace, smashing into Lucifer's face with the speed of a streaking comet. The impact made a sound like a sonic boom, shaking the air like one as well, as Lucifer flew through a stack of ammunition crates, sending shards of wood shrapnel flying into the air, his body leaving a five foot dent in the heavy reinforced metal wall behind them. He bounced away from the wall, landing on all fours. He looked up at Castiel in rage and bewilderment, his eyes flashing with red fire, smoke pouring out of them. He raised a shaky fist to his nose, and blinked in surprise at the blood there.

"Castiel, what in all of the..." he snarled, his fists clenching as he rose into a defensive crouch.

"Did you help to protect New Eden?!" Castiel challenged, his fists at his sides, his entire body trembling.

Lucifer tilted his head back, confused. "Protect...?"

"Answer me! And you better hope that answer is 'no'..." Castiel continued, voice shaking in raw anger. All of the people in the Resistance were watching the confrontation in shock, keeping a respectable distance from the two Angels. Castiel vaguely heard footsteps running into the warehouse hanger from all of the attached side-hallways and rooms, but most of his attention was focused on his opponent, his anger a red-rush I his ears.

Lucifer smiled tightly, understanding. "Ah. I see, you're supposing that I abandoned New Eden on purpose, left them open to attack...what are you assuming my motivations were? Revenge? Payback for Michael abandoning me?"

Castiel glared, waiting.

Lucifer sighed and straightened up, brushing off the debris from his suit. "Ah, Castiel. No. It was not planned that way."

"Fine," Castiel grunted. "But that's not what I asked." He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked at it contemptuously. He saw it was Crowley and glared at him as well.

"Castiel, this is _not_ a good idea..." Crowley began. Castiel shrugged Crowley's hand away and turned back to Lucifer.

"Well? Did you help to protect New Eden?"

Lucifer's smile faded and he tilted his head, holding his hands out to his sides in submission.

"Yes, if you must know...but, as I also said, it was not my intention to leave those people unprotected..."

Castiel's chin lowered. "But you did it anyway..."

"We were otherwise occupied...it was an unfortunate oversight, I suppose..."

"Unfortunate... _oversight_...?!" Castiel hissed under his breath.

" _Castiel_..." Crowley said quietly in warning.

In a flash and rush of the sound of wings, Castiel blinked to where Lucifer was standing, grabbing him by the shirt and shoving him bodily back into the dent in the metal wall.

"Unfortunate _oversight_?!" he screamed. "Those people are DEAD, Lucifer!" His fist flew into his face again, knocking Lucifer further down the wall. Castiel stalked after him, ripping the suit jacket off of him and flinging it away. He grabbed the stunned Archangel by the back of the shirt and threw him bodily across the floor of the warehouse, scattering people to either side like bowling pins. "There is no Heaven anymore, no Hell either...they're just dead...!" With a groan, Lucifer turned back to face him as Castiel stalked ever forward, blue smoke trailing from his hands. His eyes widened in alarm and he raised his hand, sending Angelic force at Castiel, trying to force him back. Castiel's advance halted, his shoes scraping on the ground. With a snarl, he held up his hand, fingers splayed. He closed them into a fist slowly. There was an audible crack and the power Lucifer was using to hold him back broke as Castiel's hand closed. Lucifer's eyes widened in shock.

And _fear_.

"That's what you _do_ , Lucifer, that's what Father punished you for in the _first place_..." Castiel growled, advancing forward and placing a well-aimed kick to Lucifer's head, sending him onto his back. "You only think about _yourself_...you never consider the 'oversights'...you think that they are _beneath_ you..." He grabbed Lucifer's left arm and leg, and with a half twist, flung him back across the warehouse to land hard across the wall again. Lucifer rolled to his side and gasped in pain, raising himself up to all fours again.

"You never warned us...never thought to tell us...just _slipped your mind_...an _oversight_..." , Castiel grunted, closing the distance. "We could have helped to _protect_ them, Lucifer...you could have done something to protect them...gave them a chance...any kind of chance...if you had only bothered to give it a second thought..." , he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

"And they end up suffering, _dying_ because of that...you were granted...no, _blessed_...with all of this power, Lucifer, and Father tasked you, all of us...to protect the weaker, and you couldn't even be bothered to spare a _single_ thought for them...! To even _acknowledge_ that they were in mortal danger...!" Castiel yelled, standing over Lucifer, glaring down at him.

"Looks like Father levelled you up a bit, didn't he, little brother?" Lucifer smiled weakly. "Dispensing justice like the Archangels of old..." He looked up at Castiel, his face a bloody mess. "Seems like we have a new 'Michael' after all, doesn't it? So what is it to be now? Do you cast me out into the pit of Darkness?" He stood up shakily, bracing himself against the wall as he did so. "Isn't that what you 'Swords of God', do?", he spat, voice full of contempt.

Castiel glared at him, his hands finally falling slowly to his sides. "No."

Lucifer barked out a small laugh and shook his head. "What? Is it to be mercy, then, oh benevolent Castiel? Is that another one of Father's lessons that I never learned?"

Castiel turned his head away. "That's what I've been telling you this entire time," Castiel answered numbly. He turned back to him, his anger spent, his face now only full of disappointment and pity. "You never learn anything." He shook his head and walked away slowly. "What a waste."

Lucifer watched him go, holding a hand to his side in pain, blood all over his face. The crowd stared for a while, then began to disperse. Lucifer, pain overcoming him, sank back to the floor, his emotions swirling like a gale, from rage to disgust, from hatred to confusion, warring to get a grasp on what had just happened.

He had just been cast down by one of his own brothers.

 _Again_.

In the end, he turned his head to the floor, and closed his eyes.

* * *

Dean glanced up at the dirty, hopeful faces around the small campfire that they had built in the cave.

 _Kids_ , he thought to himself. _For Pete's sake, they're just a bunch of scared kids_.

There were four survivors from the Heralds, two boys and two girls. He had got their names through their limited conversation as Robert, Angela, Sarah and Trevor. He was able to recall Sarah and Trevor, at least. They had tussled with them both at the castle in Scotland. He couldn't say that he was thrilled with his prospects of having to deal with either of them, He only remembered Robert and Angela with what he had been able to get while he was being possessed by Michael, which was shaky, at best. Michael's presence tended to tamp down the world going on around him.

 _Or at least, it_ had, Dean thought, smirking. _Past tense_.

He figured that he had the best chance with those two, They seemed like the...saner ones in the group.

"The Dark Ones...they haven't found this place yet?" he asked the group.

Trevor shook his head. "No, Master...they know about it...but they don't attack in any kind of organized manner. They just come at the entrance every once in a while if they get close enough."

Dean nodded. "All brawn, no brains. Got it."

Trevor swallowed and shot a nervous glance at Sarah, who had narrowed her eyes a bit at Dean. He didn't miss the facial cue and cleared his throat to get their attention.

"Good...excellent," he smirked, hoping to be mimicking the overconfident douche-baggery that Michael always seemed to exude. "Well then, minions, it seems we can safely use this as our base of operations...for now..., what I think..." he stopped, frowning. "...what we are _going to do_ is this; we send out scouting parties. Stay stealthy, obviously, that goes without saying, or it's your own neck. We need to know what we're dealing with - and, more importantly, if there's a way out of here...wherever _here_ is..."

"What about your power, Master?" Trevor asked. "Is it beginning to recover? I mean...once it returns, you could burn right through those creatures out there, couldn't you?"

Dean felt his stomach drop. His life was on a timer, and he knew it. He affected the best scowl that he could muster and glared at Trevor.

"When that time comes, you'll know it. But until that time, you will do what I say, when I say it, is that clear?"

Trevor nodded quickly, and turned his eyes away but Dean couldn't help but also notice that Sarah had narrowed her eyes again for a second. To her credit, she stayed quiet, not challenging Dean, still sizing up the situation...gathering all the information that she could.

 _Gotta be careful with that one_ , he thought. _She's a rattlesnake in a tree_.

"Ok, Sarah, you're first," Dean muttered, as if even giving the order annoyed him. "I suggest you get to it."

Sarah sat silently for a second or two, then, with a grunt, she sat up and unsheathed her sword, stalking towards the cave entrance.

"How long should I stay out there, 'Master'?" Sarah asked, looking back, the look on her face giving only the very slightest hint of contempt, almost daring Dean to call her out on it. _Oh, she's good_ , he smiled to himself. _But I'm better_...

"Until you have something useful to report, _Herald_ ," he snarled, amplifying his contempt to the nth degree. "Or until something out there throws your broken corpse back in here with us. Whichever comes first." He met her eyes with a cold glare.

It must have been pretty convincing, because Sarah jerked back a little. Then she nodded at him and hurried out of the cave. Dean smiled somewhat triumphantly in approval.

"So, anyone got a deck of cards?" he asked, sitting down, leaning back against the damp rock wall.

"Ummmm..." Robert began.

Dean stared up at him angrily. "That was a pitiful attempt at humor, Herald. I only wish to rest. Now, leave me alone." They all immediately made a concerted effort to get as far away from him in the small cave as they could, he noted with satisfaction.

 _Might get outta this yet, Winchester_ , he thought to himself. _Let's hope that bitch on wheels finds something useful out there._


	10. Behind the Curtain

**Behind the Curtain**

"So, there you are," Crowley mumbled. "Want a coffee?"

Lucifer looked up at Crowley and smirked. "Come to gloat? Fitting, I suppose."

Crowley watched him with obvious distaste, then shook his head. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen..."

Lucifer watched him, visibly annoyed.

"You're wasting your time and energy trying to make me feel any more miserable than I already am, Crowley."

Crowley smiled tightly. "I wasn't trying to do that. But I'd consider it a bonus." He indicated a chair in the corner of the otherwise empty room with his head, raising his eyebrows in silent question. Lucifer waved permission weakly to him and hung his head. He was seated on the floor, Sam's long legs folded up in front of him at a ninety-degree angle, his forearms resting on them. He was still wearing the tattered and bloody suit that he had been wearing when Castiel had attacked him.

"No, actually, I came here to offer you an opportunity," Crowley said after settling himself into the thin-cushioned chair, frowning in distaste as he adjusted the pillow.

Lucifer huffed, chuckling in disbelief. "You came to offer _me_ a 'deal'?" he snorted, looking up at him, his eyes full of contempt. "Wow, you know, I might have gotten my butt kicked...but I actually hadn't yet calculated on all of the other kinds of levels of low that I could possibly reach..."

Crowley smiled sarcastically. "Oh, there's still time for all kinds of opportunities, I am sure. But no. It seems that the lads and I are organizing a little rescue party into the heart of Old Ones territory to fetch back the truant and valiant Dean Winchester." He leaned forward, his hands clasped together, fingers interwoven. "Interested?"

Lucifer snorted, his face twisting into a sneer. "That's pure suicide."

"Mm-hmm," Crowley answered, unfazed. "Interested?"

Lucifer dropped an arm off of his knee and looked at Crowley incredulously. "How desperate do you think I am?"

Crowley didn't blink. "You tell me."

Lucifer stared. Crowley blew out a breath between pursed lips and leaned back. "Look, in all honesty - which I rarely offer, admittedly – they could use your firepower."

Lucifer turned his head away. "You've already got two Archangels on your side. What difference would one more or less make?"

Crowley frowned. "Two? Gabriel...are you suggesting that Castiel...?"

Lucifer rolled his eyes, then his head and neck impatiently back to Crowley. "Do you honestly think he could have pulled off what he just did without being one?"

Crowley frowned. "I thought it was some kind of 'righteous anger' or something."

Lucifer smiled humorously. "Amazing guess, and actually pretty damned accurate. Let me ask you something, Crowley - how do you think God created or elevated Angels to Archangels in the first place?"

Crowley considered the question before answering. "Wasn't it order of birth?"

Lucifer shook his head. "Nope. In fact, some of 'em came into their power much, much later. No, Crowley, what you just witnessed in the hanger there is Father's tried and true method of testing and granting power to his little holy war machines. - trial by combat. And to answer your next question - _any_ Angel, filled with enough righteous intention, can amplify his or her Grace enough to triumph over even an Archangel that has acted 'falsely'." He shrugged. "God's rules. I think He figured it was a way to keep...well, _me_ , from happening again."

"'Righteous intention'?" Crowley repeated.

Lucifer nodded. "In this case, Castiel was the 'righteous one', at least, according to Father's rules. I ignored those people and let them die. He was acting as God intended we Angels to act; he delivered His Wrath." He lowered his head again. "And got himself a promotion in the meantime. Tell him congratulations from me the next time you see him."

Crowley watched Lucifer for a long time, deep in thought. Then, with a loud sigh, he clapped his hands on his knees and stood up.

"Well, if I can't convince you to come along, I guess you can stay here and hold down the fort."

Lucifer looked back up in obvious disbelief. "Excuse me?"

"You're excused. But no...I can't make you come along. And since you're about to be the most powerful being left behind, it stands to reason that you should look after the place while we're gone. Jesse can't take over, because his power is holding back the Old Ones that are literally right outside of our front door right now."

Lucifer's jaw dropped open slightly.

"Let me get this straight...", Lucifer began. Crowley clasped his hands in front of himself and waited patiently.

"You want me...one of the two reasons that you created the 'Resistance' in the _first place_ , to take over it's _safety_...did I get that right?"

Crowley held up a hand. "No, let's be clear about one thing here. The words 'want to', are perhaps pushing it a bit too far. I said that I had no choice, as all the people with a functional moral compass are going to be going on the rescue mission."

Lucifer smiled evilly. "Didn't you say that you were going yourself?"

Crowley smiled back, just as evilly. "I surprise myself sometimes as well."

Lucifer shook his head. "It seems like a colossal waste of resources. All to rescue Dean Winchester?"

"And no less than four Archangel-powered Heralds, whose power we can add to Jesse's," Crowley corrected, holding up a finger. "As well as thousands of human souls. I don't think I need to remind you how valuable - and _powerful_ \- those are at this particular moment," he added, arching an eyebrow.

"How do you know that I just won't leave once you're gone? Isn't that what I do? Abandon people to their fate?", Lucifer answered back, spite and venom filling his voice.

"Where is there left to go?" Crowley asked, looking over his shoulder. "Out there? There's nothing left, Lucifer. Nowhere left to go. Let's face it... _this_ is your home now. And if there's one thing that I can count on from you, it's that you'll protect your own behind." He shrugged.

Lucifer smiled at him. "I guess you're right."

Crowley smiled back. "Of course I am. I always plan ahead for _every_ eventuality." He turned to leave and looked back briefly over his shoulder. "Don't wait up. We'll most likely be late."

Lucifer watched him go, and his smile faded rapidly.

 _Sanctimonious idiot_ , he thought. _And so, so wrong._ He leaned back and closed his eyes. _There is_ one _other place left to go. And I think I can't wait to go there_. His smile came back slowly, more deep, more genuine. _And when I do come back here, I'll be able to remind all of you what real power looks like_.

* * *

Castiel, Crowley and Gabriel materialized on a surface that was so dark and formless, they all had a momentary reaction of losing their balance. Once it was clear that they were standing on _something_ solid, they began to look around, trying to orient themselves.

Their were vast forms moving and swirling in the dark air. They were able to make out that some were man-sized, some much, much more so. They also began to make out a landscape, of a sort. The hills and small valleys seemed to shift like waves in a storm, blowing away and reforming rapidly. There were some features that remained solid enough, green and lush, even glowing in the smoky air. In short, the terrain was the epitome of Chaos.

"Nice," Gabriel said, his lip curled in a sneer. Castiel looked over at him quizzically. Gabriel shrugged. "I'm not saying that I'd want to build a summer home here, but some of the foliage is quite... _nice_..." As Castiel continued to stare, Gabriel rolled his eyes and chucked his shoulder. "C'mon, Cas! No need to stay so damned grim all the time. Let's go find Deano, shall we?"

"Oh, he's a laugh riot in the face of certain doom, isn't he?" Crowley muttered. "And no forgetting . we'll be needing to find those Heralds as well."

"Speaking of which - is there anywhere is our hastily formed, hair-brained plan, any kind of idea of what we're supposed to do with four newly minted Archangels that also happen to be filled with teenage angst and rage hormones?" Gabriel asked, moving forward and turning his head from side-to-side, scanning the horizon.

"We convince them that they'll live longer if they come with us," Castiel replied dryly. "And assure them that Michael is dead. And with him, Lucifer and his plans for the Universe."

"Oh," Gabriel said simply. "Yeah. Sure. That'll work."

"According to my _mother_ ," Crowley cut in, emphasizing the last word with a sneer of resentment, "we can use their energies as a beacon, and she'll be able to hone in on it and take any living souls left in New Eden out of here."

Gabriel nodded. "Ok, that's much better. Hey, maybe we'll live through this, huh?"

The ground literally exploded around them, spraying dirt and grass and a liquid very reminiscent of blood into their faces, causing them all to scramble back, raising their arms to defend their heads. The ground seemed to moan and shake, nearly knocking them off of their feet. Castiel was able to stabilize his footing and draw his Angel Blade. It glowed like a beacon in the swirling, dark, smoky air.

A creature had broken out of the earth, half of it's long body still anchored underground, and was snapping it's _head_ around viciously at them. It was a nightmarish mix between a gigantic centipede and a walrus, with a hairy but insect-like face. With horror, Castiel noticed that it's eyes were very _humanoid_ , and seemed to be in pain – they were teary - and _pleading_. The three hesitated, partially in shock and disbelief at the mockery of life that stood before them. It lunged at them, and slapped at them with stinging tentacles that immediately seared their skin and clothes where they landed.

Gabriel reacted first, striking at an arm that sought to grasp him. The beast let out a bellow and twisted back into the air, towering twenty feet above them. It spit out another roar, the sound a mixture of fingernails on a chalkboard and a far too human wail of agony.

"What in all the hells is that?!" Crowley yelled, scrambling back. The creature fixed it's gaze on him and snapped forward with blinding speed, it's mandibles clasping around Crowley's waist. He let out a yelp and tried to strike at the bony appendages with his fists, a red glow appearing in the air as they trailed Hellfire with every strike.

Castiel leapt onto the back of the thing's neck and drove his Blade straight down into a gap between it's shoulder plates, It let out a roar of pain, and it's head instantly spun completely one-hundred-eighty degrees around, glaring at Castiel, but letting Crowley fall to the ground as it did so. Tentacles shot out from the beast's underside and wrapped themselves around Castiel, who screamed in pain as they began to burn into him.

With a cry, Gabriel struck at the base of the tentacles with his Blade, but there was a virtual forest of them, and some of them began to strike back at him, keeping Castiel trapped where he was. Crowley rolled over with a groan of pain and tried to fling a ball of fire at the monster, but it had little to no effect.

There was a cry from somewhere in the air above them, and a thin, blond teenage girl appeared in the sky, flaming sword in hand. With a thunderous crack, she hit the creature right between it's eyes with the sword, cracking it's skull almost instantly in half.

The eyes dimmed, and it's massive form deflated slowly to the ground, black blood oozing out it's wounds. The tentacles unwrapped themselves from Castiel, who slid wearily to the ground, gasping for air, and choking in pain.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," the girl sneered, tapping her sword in her palm. "Oh, Michael is going to _love_ this..."

"Hate to break it to ya, hon, but word on the street is that's Mikey's dead," Gabriel answered hoarsely, eyeing her sword warily and putting up his own Blade in an defensive posture. He narrowed his eyes. "Or...do you know where he is?"

She narrowed her eyes back at him. "Are you sure that he's _dead_?" she asked in a hiss.

"Um...hey, I _could_ be wrong about that..." he answered, rather unconvincingly.

"I frikkin' _knew it_!" she screamed, and took off running into the dark, swirling air.

"Oh, that can't be good..." Gabriel muttered and stumbled to his feet, grabbing Castiel and pulling him along with him, in a half run in the direction she had gone. "C'mon Cassie, we gotta stop her..."

"Wh...why? What happened...?" Castiel asked groggily, trying desperately to gain his feet.

"I think they found Dean, and I alos think that I just told psycho-Xena there that he's not Michael anymore. If we don't stop her, he's toast..."

Castiel's eyes widened and he grunted in effort, breaking into a run.

"You coming?" Gabriel shouted at Crowley as they raced past him. Crowley waved his hand dismissively and got up, stumbling after them and holding his side in pain.

"Sure. More certain death, or at the very least more agonizing pain. How could I say 'no' to that?" he grumbled, lunging after them.

* * *

Dean rubbed his hands together over the small fire and then blew into his fists, trying to warm them up. The three remaining Heralds watched him do this and he tried to look aways, trying to avoid their open scrutiny.

 _Probably wondering why I even need to do that_ , he thought. _Gotta look more in control, Dean_ , he admonished himself. Reluctantly, he stood up and clasped his hands between his back and began to pace in what he hoped was a sufficiently menacing and annoyed manner across the small cave floor.

There was a rush of motion at the entrance of the cave and everyone looked over and saw Sarah poking her head in.

 _She looks_ pissed, Dean thought absently as he began to walk over to her.

She met his eyes and growled in rage.

"Fake!" she screamed in rage, scrambling the rest of the way into the cave, advancing on Dean with her sword held in front of her. "You're nothing but that Winchester creep!" She looked to either side of her at her companions, passing over Robert and Angela and settling on Trevor. "Trevor! Get him, hold him!"

"Wait a minute, Sarah..." Angela began to protest, but Sarah, with a growl, shoved past her, trying to corner Dean near the back of the cave.

Trevor drew his sword and it sprang to life with blue and red swirling flame. He moved past a gaping Robert and leveled his sword at Dean. "Sarah, are you sure?"

"Positive," she snarled with a smile. "Heard it from Gabriel himself. Kill him."

"Wait...what?!" Trevor sputtered, turning towards her. "Gabriel...? Gabriel is here?"

"Yes, but it doesn't matter, we'll deal with _them_ later. Kill him!" she screamed with a murderous rage, trying to rush around Robert, who was now blocking her way. Dean was doing his best to try to get as far away from her as possible, his back up against the far cave wall.

"Wait...them? What 'them', Sarah? Who is 'them'?" Trevor shouted, lowering his sword and staring at Sarah. Angela used the opening to grab Sarah by the arm and swing her around. Sarah snarled at her, incredulous.

"Castiel and Crowley are also here!" she shouted. "Whose damn side are you all on, anyway?!"

"That's a damned good question," an out of breath Gabriel asked from the cave's entrance. "Who _are_ you fighting for, exactly?"

The Heralds all turned to him, Trevor and Sarah raising their swords. Castiel came in beside Gabriel and lowered his gaze at the two, flicked his eyes over Robert and Angela, and nodded.

"Cause the way I figure it, Michael is out of the picture. Lucifer is back on our side, and you guys are out in the middle of all of this wonderfulness without a clue as to what to do next. So, once again - who the hell are you fighting for?" Gabriel asked, huffing.

"Maybe we're fighting you on general principle," Sarah snarled. "The new vs. the old. Get our chance to pay you back for this mess you made."

"That _we_ made?" Gabriel protested. "Well, sorry hon, but that was all Lucy and Mikey there. We're the ones trying to un-screw this mess. And you're the one trying to...what is it exactly? Stab everyone that isn't you?"

Sarah smirked. "Real cute, but it won't save Dean. He lied to us. And for that, he _dies_." She spun and hurled her sword in a straight line directly at Dean's heart. Pinned as he was against the back of the small cave wall, there was no way for him to avoid it.

Dual arcs of lightning shot out from Castiel's back, and the cave shook with a sonic boom. Before anyone could even blink, he was standing in front of Dean, the flaming sword grasped by the blade in his hand. His eyes glowed bright, blinding white and blue. He snarled and took the sword in both hands, bending it until, with an echoing crack, it snapped. The two pieces fell to the floor.

Sarah glared, then turned and tried to run.

Crowley caught her. "Uh-uh, little miss, we'll be needing your cooperation later on, after all."

She struggled, then, when she couldn't break free, looked Crowley up and down in shocked surprise. "I'm...I'm an _Archangel_ , you Demon slime...! How are you...?"

Gabriel's brow furrowed and he frowned. "Yeah, actually, that's a darned good question...how _are_ you doing that?"

Crowley grunted with effort and smiled at him. "I ate my Wheaties." Gabriel's frown deepened. "No, Gabriel. Some secrets I keep for myself. At least for now."

Gabriel raised his eyebrows and looked over at Castiel, who shook his head.

"Let it go, Gabriel. I've been working with him for awhile now. It's better not to ask and just find out later."

The cave around them shook.

"Place ain't so stable, guys, what say you we get outside?"

"Not that it matters, but that'll kill us faster," Sarah grunted.

"Why?" Gabriel asked, frowning.

"That thing that came out of the ground? That was just an appendage. What we're actually standing on right now? I flew up into the air to take a better look at it when I was _ordered_ to do reconnaissance." She glared at Dean, who smiled back. "This is nothing but one big Old One. We're standing near it's mouth. Far as I can tell, this cave is just a pore or something. But at least it kept us hidden."

Gabriel shuddered, then shrugged and smiled, tucking his Blade back in his belt. "Well, I think we've done enough sightseeing for now. Wanna blow this joint?"

Crowley nodded. "Everyone join hands. We need to leave. Now."

Hesitantly, the other Heralds joined their hands. There was a glowing light, and they disappeared.

* * *

Lucifer pulled the bone crusted, jagged Key out of his coat and fit it perfectly into the massive, ornate gate of skulls that represented the main Gate of Hell.

He smiled as it swung open, sulfurous air blowing into his face.

He and Michael had destroyed Heaven, to be sure, but _Hell_ , he had kept for himself. It was a reminder of the domain that he had built, flawed as it was, it was still _his_ , despite Crowley's manipulations to control it.

And besides, it held a prize that was too valuable to destroy.

He made his way swiftly through familiar passageways and halls, both confined and grand, through palaces and parlors and dens of Sin itself, until he finally reached a large, rusted metal door. His smile widened as he touched his palm to it, watching the runes inscribed on it glow red and emit black smoke. He heard the massive tumblers click and with a groan, the Vault door opened.

He strode in, triumphant. With the power inside the Vault...

He stopped, his smile fading.

Panic and anger began to build up in his stomach. He turned around and spun wildly, searching the shelves and drawers that seemed to stretch up into infinity around him,

 _Empty_.

 _All empty_.

"My souls..." he whispered, his panicked turning slowing. " _Where are all of Hell's_...?"

He froze,. Then closed his eyes slowly.

Lucifer roared out of the depths of the Vault of Souls, a roar that shook the walls in every corner of Hell.

"CRRRROOOOOWWWWLLLLLEEEEYYYYY!"

* * *

Rowena walked into the room where Atropos was waiting for her and closed the door gently behind her. "The boys are back. Unbelievable, but they did it. They got the Heralds. Dean Winchester. All of the survivors." She shook her head in disbelief. "I guess we're all set, then."

Atropos looked over at Rowena and lowered her eyes. "Is it really time?"

Rowena titled her head. "Lamb - you _knew_ what we would have to be doing with them all when you started this."

Atropos nodded weakly. "I...it just seems so unfair. To them."

"They won't even know what happened to them."

Atropos shook her head. "That doesn't make it any better. I came to know some of them. Rowena. Rowena, I don't know if I _can_..."

"If you don't, we _all_ die. It's truly that simple," Rowena answered gently.

Atropos looked up and away. "Damn Him, Rowena. He could have put this to rights all by Himself, not make me do it."

Rowena frowned, considering. "Maybe that's His entire point. To make you feel that pain. To make you understand."

Atropos grit her teeth. "Why?"

Rowena smiled bitterly. "Because people in that much pain themselves always seem to want to share it with everyone else, I'm afraid." She moved over to a large table, where literally thousands of glowing strands of golden thread floated in the air, all of them standing on end and gently waving in the air like a field of wheat in a gentle breeze.

"It's time, Atropos."

Atropos' shoulders slumped, then she looked up, set her jaw, and walked over to the table. She hesitated, the threw up her arms, spread out to the side.

The threads stirred, then began to swirl around an unseen center point, rotating faster, and faster, and even _faster_. The air screamed in a wail. Rowena flinched back, shielding her eyes. The golden light grew until it felt it would burn them all away.

Out in the Resistance warehouse, the refugees from the other dimensions that Atropos had 'rescued' began to glow as well.

Then, one by one, they disappeared, leaving not a trace.

Atropos' brow was coated in slick sweat, her eyes piercing the wailing light, willing the Threads of Life together, forming them, forging them all...

….until finally, one, single, diamond hard, golden thread stood. It seemed to _cut into_ the reality around it, existing outside of it, and encompassing it all at the same time.

Atropos sagged to the floor, looking up at it in wonder. Rowena stared in awe as well.

"The Pattern is made anew," Atropos muttered. "From the many, one single whole." She looked over at Rowena and smiled at the stunned look on her face. "One dimension. One reality. That's all that's left. Our literal last stand."

Rowena looked down at Atropos, her jaw still open. "It's...it's _beautiful_."

Atropos smiled weakly and stood up, hugging herself, her legs shaking with fatigue.

"And, hopefully, unassailable. The Darkness will never reach us here. At least, that was the idea. You can thank Michael and Lucifer for that idea"

Rowena swallowed hard and met Atropos' eyes. "And the rest...the rest of the world outside?"

Atropos smiled.

"Go see for yourself."

Rowena walked numbly out of the room and through the nearly empty hanger of the Resistance. Several people watched her curiously as she walked towards the main gate.

She casually, but hesitantly touched her hand to the handle, and yanked it open, the door sliding automatically open as she did so.

The guards were shouting at her to stop, but she could barely hear them. She was too busy listening to the sound of the birds outside - _singing_.

The warm sun fell on her face and she smiled broadly in spite of herself, turning her face up into the delicious light.

She heard the gasps of wonder and surprise from the members of the Resistance behind her. She heard rather than saw them gathering around behind her, as if afraid to trust what they were seeing.

She stared out at the _intact_ skyline of Los Angeles. In the distance she heard the wail of a fire engine and the buzz of afternoon traffic. She looked up and saw a plane on approach to LAX.

She took a long, shuddering breath and sunk to the ground, sitting sideways on it.

Atropos had done it...took thousands of alternate dimensions, and created one from them all. One fortress. One reality.

One last stand.

She couldn't stop the raw, cold fear in the back of her mind though, because she knew...could feel it...

She shuddered and looked out at the new world again. And wondered how long they all had before the Old Ones came for it.


End file.
